


Labyrinth

by lovethosehobbits (tree1110)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 121,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree1110/pseuds/lovethosehobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bilbo leaves, Frodo becomes increasingly lonely and takes to hiking on long treks. One day, he encounters two ruffians who rape and beat him, leaving him for dead. A ranger happens upon him and takes him to his Captain to heal.</p><p>I, in no way, have any connection, claims or rights to any thing created or owned by the Tolkien Estate. This story is for entertainment and enjoyment only and I am not monetarily compensated. I just enjoy writing about the characters...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foul Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this fic is VERY VIOLENT with Non Con and Rape themes. Skipping this chapter, if it squicks you, will not detract from the story. VERY AU. Read at your own perverted risk. :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.
> 
> I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.  
> This chapter is VIOLENT themes of RAPE and TORTURE abound. Please head all warnings!!

He crashed down the hill through the brush and undergrowth, frantically trying to escape his pursuers and unmindful of the scrapes and bruises that now covered his exposed legs and arms. But they were unshakable, throwing bawdy jokes back and forth to one another as they yelled threats and catcalls of what tortures were to come once he was captured. He chanced a glimpse over his shoulder, measuring the distance between himself and the hunters. They were closer but then they were on horseback while he was afoot. He willed his large feet to move faster, adrenaline his only advantage as the quarry. He had lost his cloak long ago, caught on a greedy branch and pulled from his back, and now his fine linen shirt, velvet weskit and pants were ripped beyond repair, but he cared not. He looked ahead seeking any hint of some small place in which to conceal himself, and seeing none. He hit the crest of a hill, lost his footing, and fell to his knees. He struggled to his feet and escaped, narrowly, from hands that reached out, grasping for him. Shooting another glance over his shoulder he saw that only one of the men remained on his trail. Quickly, he scanned the area for the other but there was no sign of the man. That proved to be a mistake that would seal his fate, for as he whipped his head forward a low branch appeared in front of him and he was unable to avoid it as it clubbed him in the forehead, throwing him onto his back and rendering him near senseless. Two sneering and decidedly sinister faces appeared above him, lasciviously grinning down at him.

"Ya led us on a merry chase, but now your ours and we're gonna show ya a right good time now, ya little rat," the heavy man panted. "Aye, a mighty good time," he continued, a lustful look in his eyes. Frodo heard all of this as if from a fog and briefly wondered how things could have gone so wrong so fast before losing consciousness.

********************

The day had dawned sunny and bright with only dark clouds far on the horizon as a portent of a possible afternoon storm and Frodo had taken only one glance before he had gathered his things for a hike. He decided, rather impetuously, to make the journey an overnighter, preferring the sounds of nature to that of the smial. Bilbo had departed, to places unknown, a mere month before and the silence of the once beloved home that surrounded him, had become unbearable. He missed the constant chatter and mumbling of his uncle as he had padded about the smial leaving in its place a deep, abiding loneliness. The oppressive silence had taken its toll. Frodo seldom ate any longer, despising the solitary act of venturing into the kitchen to prepare himself a meal. He slept even less, the lack of the comforting ritual of drinking a glass of wine or smoking a pipe before turning in with his beloved Bilbo, having been taken from him. He had come to loath the opulence and vastness of his surroundings as the quiet of the home seemed to take on a life of its own as it engulfed and smothered him, filling him with dread. He had become withdrawn and listless, not wishing to burden Sam or his kin with what, he thought to be, a trivial matter. 'It will just take some getting used to, is all,' he had thought but as the weeks had crawled by the smial had become unendurable. He began to spend less and less time at Bag End in order to avoid the heavy silence of each day and night. At first Sam, Merry or Pippin had joined him on his outings, but as Frodo ventured further and further from his home, they had begged off, unable to make the treks. On this fateful day he had been lost in thought, reflecting on how he could adapt to the noiselessness of his home, not realizing just how far he had walked. He had found himself deep within the woods of the northern borders of the Shire and decided it was as good a place as any to camp for the night. Instead of setting up camp he had plopped himself at the base of a huge tree and taken parchment and ink from his knapsack. He had been writing down his thoughts when the sound of approaching horses had come to his ears. He had secreted himself behind the trunk and peered cautiously at the two riders. They had had a foul look about them and Frodo had quickly gathered his things in order to make a hasty retreat. A sudden gust of wind had snatched a page from his hand and he had, reflexively, grabbed at it; the movement had been his undoing. One of the two riders had pointed at him and they had quickened their pace towards the tree. Panicked, Frodo had sprinted into the tree line and the chase commenced.

******************************

Tilion was bored. He had been sent by his Captain to patrol the northern borders of the Shire after hearing of some unsavory character’s presence. As he road along the tree line he reflected on the reclusive leader of the rangers of the north. Try as he might he had not, as yet, received but the occasional nod or greeting from the man and it was a source of frustration that ate at him. He had shown exemplary service in his short time with the group but it seemed to go largely unnoticed and unrecognized. Tilion wasn't usually a seeker of acceptance or praise but after months of being treated with indifference he had begun to doubt his abilities and the prospect of ever becoming a true ranger in the eyes of the man. He had sought out a fellow ranger and friend, seeking guidance on how he might earn the respect of his Captain. Tulkas, a large, muscular ranger, had become, early on, a protector of the young ranger. He lacked the usual grimness of the band, instead having a gay twinkle and hearty laugh that never failed to cheer those around him. He was a mighty warrior that Tilion, on numerous occasions, had seen the other side of - a steady, fierce and surprisingly agile foe against the evil that threatened the Shire. When Tilion had voiced his doubts and worries concerning his abilities and the lack of response from the Captain, the behemoth had merely slapped him on the back, a gesture that had left Tilion sore for days, laughed heartily and told him to be patient; that he was still but a child, by Numenorean standards, and that he would gain what he sought in time. Tilion realized that being a mere twenty-four years of age, he was considered very young in light of the fact that he was of the Dunedain lineage. He was considered impetuous and bullheaded, though gifted, all qualities attributed to his youth. He sighed and touched his pocket subconsciously. He wondered what his father would have thought of him now and if the man would have been proud. He had been but twelve years of age when his father had perished in a squirmish with a band of Breemen. Captain Thorongil had grieved the most being a close and lifelong friend with his father. Tilion's mother had brought him to the rangers and plead with Thorongil to take him under his wing and train him, knowing that her husband would have desired this. Afterwards she had gone to live with her remaining relatives in Fornost, knowing she would, quite likely, never see her son again. At first Tilion had felt abandoned and had retreated into himself, missing his mother desperately. But, after a time, the group had begun his training in armed combat, the use of the bow and sword and the ability to walk soundlessly within the woods. Soon he had been able to sneak, undetected, up on any member of the group. He had learned quickly and drawn praise from all, all except his Captain who had merely nodded and given a grunt to show his approval. His greatest skill had proven to be the use of the bow and he had, on numerous occasions, been able to hit impossible targets at great distances. He had wanted to wear his father's silver star, like the others, on his cloak but Tulkas had counseled him to wait until the Captain deemed him worthy. Tilion had resigned himself to never achieving the honor of wearing the emblem, that he would forever be thought of as a novice in the eyes of the Captain. His reverie was cut short by a high, shrill scream that caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise. The scream had been full of terror and anguish and sounded like the person was experiencing a great suffering. He turned his horse sharply and raced through the trees and underbrush towards the sound.

******************************

Frodo had been yanked to his feet and thrown, like a bag of grain, over the front of the heavy man's horse. The men then began to search for a campsite. It had begun to rain heavily by the time they found a suitable spot and Frodo was thrown to the muddy ground and tethered to a tree with a rope. They tied his hands but left his feet unbound, not perceiving them to be a threat knowing he could not run while leashed. They left him and began to set up camp.

"I get first go this time. Your tore the other 'un up with your big, hairy dick last time. Poor thing bled ta death 'for I ever got a chance at 'em," Gant said plaintively.

"I can't help it if I'm well hung," laughed Wulf. "I get pretty worked up when I get one 'o the runts. Can't stop meself, they're so nice and tight." He licked at his thick lips, anticipating the entertainment that was to come. He eyed the hobbit's unconscious form hungrily.

"Well, I still gets first go. I ain't takin' no chances on you killin' another 'un," Gant grumped.

"Fine, but make it quick. I'm getting hard jes' thinkin' 'bout it," Wulf said angrily.

Gant left, walking towards the stream, to refill his water bag. After he was out of sight Wulf crossed to the hobbit and began to unbutton the hobbit's clothing. "Ah, bugger it," he said through gritted teeth and began yanking and tearing the cloth, in frantic need, from Frodo's prone body. After the hobbit was naked Wulf began to slowly run his hands over the soft skin. He freed Frodo's hands and rolled him onto his back. He groaned as he looked at the perfect body before him. He was so hard now he thought he would come before ever having touched the hobbit.

"Oi, what's this? I tolds ya I gets first go," shouted Gant as he ran towards the campsite.

"I was jes' gettin' him ready is all. Look, ain't he a pretty one?" Wulf said as he stared at the hobbit, his eyes filled with unbridled lust.

"Oh, this is gonna be sweet," Gant murmured, drinking in the sight.

The noise of the confrontation caused Frodo to stir and he slowly opened his eyes and looked up into the hungry faces above him. He cringed away from the beefy men leering down at him.

"Ah look, he's awake. What say we have some fun now, eh Mr. Rat?" Wulf said licking his lips in anticipation. Frodo struggled to free himself but found he was held tight. He soon discovered, however, that his feet were free and delivered a well-placed kick into Wulf's face.

"Agggh! The maggot broke me nose," the man bellowed as he fell back onto his rear, blood dribbling down through his fingers as he clutched at his face. He turned on Frodo and hit him hard across the face causing Frodo's head to snap violently backwards-leaving stars in the hobbit's vision, his mouth bleeding and head reeling as his surroundings swam in and out of focus. Two more slaps followed in quick succession and Frodo's head pounded, as he was rendered nearly insensible. Wulf jumped to his feet and began shouting down at him but Frodo could only make out about half of what was said for the ringing in his ears. He languidly looked up at the raging man just as a shod foot came towards him and delivered a powerful kick.

"Ooof," he gasped as the foot connected brutally with his ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. Wulf continued kicking and striking at the small body until Gant stepped in and stopped him. Frodo rolled to his side and vomited, blood and bile dribbling down his chin and puddling under his face. He fought to fill his lungs with air, as his face went purple. After Gant had interceded he looked over at the hobbit, holding his furious companion at bay.

"If'n ya kill it den we don't get ta 'ave our fun, now, do we?" He said loudly.

Understanding and a look of pure malevolence filled Wulf's eyes. "Oh we wouldn't want that would we, maggot? You picked on da wrong guy, ya did. I'm gonna bang you so hard you're eyes 'll pop out and I'm gonna make you *want* every secon' of it." He laughed evilly as he crossed to the hobbit and roughly rolled him onto his back.

"Heh, I is goin' first, remember?" Gant whined.

"Dat was 'afore this 'en decided he was gonna have his fun. Now I'm goin’ first and you better not get in me way," he growled.

Gant raised his palms and slowly backed away towards a nearby tree, giving him an excellent view from which he could watch the activities.

"First I think we should do somethin' about those big ugly feet of yours," Wulf said pulling out a very large hunting knife.

"Wulf, you ain't gonna cut 'em off, are ya?" Gant asked worriedly.

"No, you idiot, but I am gonna show this little mongrel what is done to animals who won't stay put." He waved the knife in front of the huge, blue eyes and grinned maliciously, showing rotten teeth and dispensing a gust of foul breath into Frodo's frightened face.

He grabbed Frodo's foot "Hold 'em down," he shouted at Gant as Frodo desperately kicked at him. Gant ran to Wulf's side and grabbed the thrashing legs, pinning them down in the mud. Frodo struggled with all his strength but could not free himself from the man. Wulf took the knife and slashed the back of both ankles, cutting the tendons and effectively hobbling their captive. A high-pitched scream escaped Frodo's lips at the sudden fiery agony.

"Dat outta do the trick. That'll teach ya, you little maggot," Wulf spat vindictively. Tears flowed down Frodo's face as he whimpered to himself. Wulf rolled him back onto his back and looked down at him. "Too bad you're such a troublemaker," he said as he caressed the pale skin reverently, we could’a enjoyed you for a long time." He leaned over the hobbit and ran his tongue from Frodo's navel to his groin, arriving at the flaccid penis, and took it into his mouth. "Umm, you are a sweet 'un. I'm gonna *make* you enjoy this for me."

Frodo shot him an icy look. "That is not possible," he spat.

Wulf laughed. "Oh, it's possible, I done it before, ya see. Once you're hard and ready then I'm gonna bring you to the edge, only you ain't goin’ over it, not at least, without me." He blew on the moistened penis and smiled when he saw it quiver. "Den I'm gonna bang you good, little rat."

Frodo gulped. The large man opened his mouth wide and took the penis and sac into his mouth. He moaned as if he were devouring a fine meal and to Frodo's horror, he felt himself growing hard. Try as he might he was unable to control the sensations that surged suddenly through his body. He groaned. "Please...please, don't do this, I beg you," he whispered as tears slid down his face.

"I love it whens they beg," Wulf moaned. "Jes' makes it so much sweeter." Frodo looked over at Gant, and was horrified to see the man slowly remove his pants revealing a huge, weeping erection. The man's hand dropped to his organ and he began to stroke himself but suddenly stopped remembering that his turn was to come and wanting to be ready. He grasped the tree next to him, his knuckles turning white as he watched the seduction before him. Wulf was peeling his own pants down as he concentrated on Frodo's penis. He lapped and suckled it until his cheeks dented inwards with the effort. Frodo moaned, not wanting to feel the pleasure as it built within him, but helpless to stop himself. Wulf was now bobbing up and down while sucking hard and Frodo's hips began to buck at the impending crescendo. Perspiration lay across his lip as he panted harshly, feeling himself drawing closer to his climax. Suddenly he was flipped to his knees, his face pushed down into the mud, as Wulf parted his cheeks and plunged into him, Frodo's penis still being held within the powerful grip of the man's fist. Frodo screamed as sudden agony ripped through his backside and into his abdomen, the shock and suddenness of the penetration leaving him in stunned surprise. Never had he felt pain like this but instead of continuing to scream he found his breath knocked from him and he could only pant. Each thrust by the man moved his face forward in the mud three or four inches as Frodo was stroked in rhythm to each pounding stab. He was horrified to find that his penis was still fully erect. He was in such agony but also so close to the forced climax that the pain was, momentarily, dulled as his organ sought its own release.

"Augg...he's so tight. So tight, I could grind into him all night," Wulf panted, his eyes glazing over even as the speed and depth of his penetrations increased. Frodo cried out but both men were oblivious and heedless of his pain, intent only on their carnal desires. Gant stared in rapt fascination as a low moan escaped his lips, his organ weeping uncontrollably as Wulf stroked the hobbit to completion, knowing that when he did the pleasure would only intensify. Frodo convulsed as he came on the ground below him, causing his rectum to contract, squeezing Wulf's engorged member.

"Ahh...I'm comin' and I never had such a lay," he shouted. He increased his penetration, now pumping faster as he used both hands to pull the hobbit against him and slamming his huge body forward. He came in a blur of frenzied pumping, screaming out a satisfied shout. He slumped over Frodo's back, and pulled himself from his cheeks as blood and semen gushed outward and down the quivering thighs. A lone whimper escaped Frodo's lips as his eyes stared off, unseeing.

"I swear dats da the best lay I ever had," gasped Wulf as he moved aside.

Gant nearly ran to the exposed hobbit. "Ah look what ya done. He's bleedin' somethin' fierce, jes' like the last one," Gant whined. "Still looks ripe for the pickin' though and I'm so hard I could do yer horse right now," he said. He slammed his penis into the awaiting hobbit as he continued speaking haltingly, "Course...I ....was ...hopin' ...we ...could ...aggghh...play ...wid ...em f...for ..a ....God's he's still so tight...couple o' days," he said, breathing harshly as the hobbit beneath him wept uncontrollably, the pain washing over his hindquarters and through his abdomen. Frodo began to pray for death as his tenuous hold on sanity proceeded to unravel. This man was not as large as the other but it was too close a time between violations and he could feel tissue tearing as the man plunged inwardly in a rapidly increasing cadence. Within Frodo's line of sight stood Wulf, an evil grin on his ugly face. He had not re-dressed and as Frodo watched in horror, he saw the man's organ begin to rise as he salivated over the hobbit's defilement. At last Gant came and collapsed, spent. Wulf shoved him aside and placed himself astride Frodo's hindquarters. He lunged forward with such force that Frodo was lifted from the ground and Frodo wavered on the edge of consciousness at the intensity of the thrust that was beyond any pain he had ever experienced.

He cried out in surprised anguish as the penetration was repeated, his mouth opened in a silent scream, his breathing hitched as he tried to ready himself for each subsequent intrusion. Wulf seemed to purposely be trying to inflict as much agony as he could on the small body, forcing his organ in deeper, the thrusting coming at a fevered pitch. As he came he was suddenly thrown backwards, a still quivering arrow protruding from his chest. He looked down in surprise then up at his assailant before falling forward onto the limp body beneath him. Tilion looked at the other man and saw that he was leaning, spent, against a tree watching the proceedings. Before he had time to register his companion's demise an arrow pinned him through the throat and against the trunk.

********************************

Tilion had moved silently through the underbrush towards where he had heard the desperate scream. As he got closer to the small glade he could hear grunts and groans but then his ears began to keenly detect weeping. He parted the limbs of a nearby tree and his gorge rose at what he saw. One man was standing off to the side watching as another, using all his strength, was brutally raping what appeared to be, a small boy of about ten summers. The child was covered in mud and vomit and badly bruised, evidence of a severe beating. Gore, mixed with semen, was flowing down his legs. His feet were large for a child and they were twisted at unnatural angles and coated in bright red blood.

The boy was sobbing uncontrollably, his large blue eyes vacant and hopeless, his body lifting violently with the magnitude of each thrust. Tilion drew an arrow, notched it and let it fly. It was an easy shot and found its mark, catching the rapist in the center of his chest. The second man was slumped against a nearby tree, watching as the assault grew increasingly violent and Tilion's second arrow pinned him to the trunk of the tree through the throat. Tilion quickly retrieved his horse and moved across the glade. The rain was coming in great sheets now and the boy, still with his face in the mud, his knees tucked up under him and his rear end presenting, was shivering violently although Tilion was uncertain if it was due to shock or the cold. The blood from his ravaged hindquarters continued to stream down his legs adding to the rainwater and leaving a crimson puddle at the left knee. Tilion glanced at the feet, again surprised at their size, and flinched recognizing that the youth had been hobbled. He had seen this before, long ago, and he ground his teeth angrily. The barbaric practice of hobbling was seldom used any longer as a tether or kind touch had been found to be more effective at keeping animals from fleeing. His horse nickered and he started, coming out of his reverie. The shock and the act of violence against this innocent child had so overwhelmed and sickened him that he had been momentarily stopped in his tracks, staring at its aftermath.

He removed his bedroll from the horse and started to cross to the child when he remembered the healers pouch that his Captain had always insisted they each carry. He turned, retrieved it, and ran to the boy’s side. He held his hands out, uncertain of what to do first, then grabbed the pouch and withdrew a roll of gauze and a small bag of medicinal herbs. He took the gauze and, unrolling it, sprinkled some of the dried herbs on it. He re-rolled it and swallowed hard. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. With shaking hands he placed the small roll of gauze at the childs hole and slowly pushed it inside of him, trying to stem the flow of blood. But the bandage quickly became saturated and he had to remove it. He looked about him for something that might keep the boy from bleeding to death. He reached under his jerkin and tore a long strip from the tail of his shirt. Again he rolled the herbs inside of the cloth and slowly pushed it into the boy. The child whimpered weakly but gave no other sign of awareness. Tilion studied the still face and, satisfied that the bandage seemed to be working, gathered the crumpled body to him, wrapping it over and over again,safely ensconsing the boy deeply within the folds of his blanket. He looked down at the filthy face with the empty eyes, whispering words of comfort and reassurance and walked briskly to his horse. He mounted one handed, turned the steed sharply, forcing the animal into a run. Throughout the journey he prayed to Eru that he had not arrived too late.

TBC


	2. What Once Was Whole Now is Broken

For those of you who couldn't or preferred not to read the first chapter of this fic because it was too violent, I offer this synopsis. :D

Frodo goes for an overnight hike trying to escape the quiet of Bag End. He, of course, walks further than he had planned but isn't especially worried until two ruffians spot him. They pursue him and finally catch him, torture and (gulp) rape him. Just when all seems lost for our hapless hobbit, a young ranger (Tilion) comes upon the two villians attacking our boy and kills the ruffians, rescuing our Frodo. He gathers Frodo up and makes all do haste to the stronghold of the northern rangers for his Captain (Thorongil) to help with the poor victim. Tilion has a close friend Tulkas, a fellow ranger who is a big strapping guy ... jovial and loving. Tilion is considered VERY young for a Numenorian (24) and was adopted into the rangers after his father was killed by Breelanders when he was 12. Tilion's father was Thorongil's oldest and dearest friend and Thorongil, although he loves Tilion, will not become close to the lad because 1) He looks exactly like his father which reminds Thorongil of his failure to save him and 2) He is afraid that if he becomes attached to the boy, that he will die like his father. That should about do it....on with the fic

 

Labyrinth Chapter Two

Sweat glistened on the muscles of his chest and arms as he pushed an errant strand of hair from his face. The blade slid easily home, separating muscle from bone, and another thin strip fell away to be hung on the frame. Estel looked down at the knife in his hand. The bone handle was intricately carved with the images of deer and elk surrounded by a field of trees and plants. Ada had carved each figure himself and gifted his human son with the thin blade on his eighteenth birthday. Estel had been so honored to know that Ada felt he was worthy and responsible enough to show the  
blade the respect it demanded. The blade was light and fit perfectly within his grasp almost as if it were a part of his own body. That was the way of the elves, to create a thing of utility but to make it a thing of beauty as well. A shout brought him from his reverie and he turned to see Daekon, who was guard of the watch this day, galloping towards him, a look of alarm on his face. He sheathed the blade loosely and closed the distance between himself and the approaching ranger. A chill wind blew across his exposed chest as he readied himself for what he could only surmise to be an impending attack.

"A fast moving rider approaches, Estel. He is at my heels even as we speak. I could not tell if he were friend or foe as he is bent nearly double over his mount's neck," Daekon gasped as he dismounted and drew his sword in one movement. Estel smiled grimly as he saw that the others had miraculously appeared and had assumed defensive postures about their leader.

With the skittering of rock and the tortured breath of a steed near its end, the intruder broke through the trees, halting mere inches from the chieftain. Everyone visibly relaxed as they saw it was one of their own, but the captains' eyes widened to see Tilion's chest and abdomen saturated with bright red blood. He was suddenly awash in images of another body covered in his own blood and startled to see that the features of this victim had changed only slightly over time.

Elu. Elu as he lay dying in his arms. He had been helpless to save his oldest and dearest friend. And then there had been Tilion. Tilion, Elu's son and a constant physical reminder of Estel's failure.

Eluliad and Estel had been the terrors of the grim bunch of rangers. Renowned pranksters, they had on many occasions shared punishment for their acts of folly. They had been together since a young age; eighteen, a mere child in the long years of a Numenorian, and as they had aged together, mellowing and becoming more responsible, they had become as  
blood brothers and were inseparable. So it was that in one moment Estel had been a laughing, carefree ranger of the north and in the next, in a mere twinkling of time, he had become a grieving, forever grim man who had lost his greatest ally, brother and soul mate.

Estel had known and loved Tilion since he was born, becoming the boy's honorary father whenever Eluliad had had to patrol distantly. Elu had exacted a promise from him as he lay dying in Estel's arms that he would always look after Tilion and, when the boy was of age, take him in to become a ranger of the north like his father. Estel had sworn to him that this would be so and had trained Tilion in all of the necessary skills needed to become a ranger, but had been unable to give the boy the love he so desperately needed. He was his father's son not only in appearance but in many small mannerisms as well, and it was like a knife slowly twisted in Estel's heart to be near the boy. And now, as he looked up at the son of his best friend and saw the blood soaked blanket clutched at his abdomen, he began to sob, reliving his last few moments with Elu all over again.

As Estel gaped at Tilion's bloody chest, panic gripped him, and he stumbled forward. He gently pulled the young ranger to him and lowered him to the ground. "Where are you injured, son?" he asked huskily. He had tears in his eyes as he reached out with trembling hands, towards the saturated bundle Tilion held so tightly to him.

Tilion held up a crimson hand, stopping the captain in mid motion, and then hurriedly sat up. Estel shrank back, a surprised look on his face. "*I* am not injured, Captain Thorongil," Tilion said. He searched his captain's face questioningly. Had he really seen concern and fear on the normally stoic face moments ago?

"But...all the blood, where did it come from?" Estel asked as he continued to visually examine the boy's body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose his features into a detached mien.

Tilion swallowed nervously as he slowly unwrapped the blanket. "Captain, I came upon this young boy as he was being brutally beaten and savagely raped by two ruffians." The Captain's coloring began to deepen as Tilion rushed to finish his explanation. "I killed the men as they forced themselves on the child but could not, in good conscience, abandon the child to certain death."

Estel rose angrily to his feet. Gone was the look of concern, as his face clouded in anger. "And you brought him here? You brought him here to our private sanctuary when you just as easily could have deposited him with some farmer or in a nearby village? You know the oath we all swore, that none can know of our refuge. How could you endanger our lives so carelessly?" The men had slowly gathered about the two and exchanged various looks ranging from disgust to shock.

Tilion flushed furiously and straightened before his captain. "I could not leave him to die, my Lord. He is badly injured. Even now I do not know if he yet draws breath," Tilion said, trying to keep his voice from shaking in anger. Estel looked him over noting the amount of blood and thought to himself that the stricken lad had probably already died. He came nose-to-nose with the young ranger and stared angrily down at him. Tilion gulped convulsively, trying to keep himself from shrinking backwards.

"If any here is harmed by your actions this day..." Thorongil growled threateningly. The hair on Tilion's neck rose. Thorongil reached down and whipped the blanket back from one end of the small bundle. He looked down on a grimy and battered face. The face lacked all color and the small mouth was the deep purple of death. As Estel stared at the child, a pang of guilt stabbed at him to think that he should withhold assistance from such an innocent being.

"Give him to me," Thorongil said gruffly. Tilion placed the bundle into the outstretched arms and stepped back. Estel turned on his heel and strode across the compound towards the cabin. Tilion turned as if to follow but Tulkas reached out and stopped him.

"I wouldn't, lad. Best to give the Captain a wide berth until he calms down a bit," the burly ranger said knowingly. He looked after the retreating figure, remembering the last time he had stirred the man's ire, and shivered. Tilion swore and, grabbing his horse's reins, stomped off towards the small barn. Tulkas shook his head as he watched him leave, then turned and slowly walked towards the low log house to see if his captain needed his assistance.

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Frodo slowly cracked open his eyes. His body jolted with each movement of the galloping horse, causing him to weep silently to himself. He vaguely recalled the ruffians having been killed by another before he had passed out. Now he was in the hands of yet another man. He cringed to think of having to withstand still more torture and vowed silently that he would die rather than succumb yet again. He felt the horse come to a sudden stop as raised voices surrounded him. Tears welled up in his eyes and slid silently down his grimy face. He thought of Bag End and how he would welcome the silent rooms now. He thought of Sam and wished he had taken the opportunity to say goodbye, to express how dearly he had valued the gardener's friendship.

His eyes slipped closed as the blanket was thrown back and he was examined like so much meat to be dickered over at a butcher’s stall. Then he felt his body being handed to another and was dimly aware of movement.

One of his hands came lose of the blanket and dangled limply at the man's side. It lightly grazed something hard that stuck out from the man's belt. He ran his finger over the polished surface and discovered that it was a handle of sorts. Foggily, he wondered at what it could be as his palm closed around it. He slowly pulled the object free of the man’s belt and brought the item up to his bare chest. He laid it there and slowly ran his thumb over its edge. It was  
a knife with a very thin blade.

Frodo's heart sped up thinking of how he could use the knife to make his escape, but he rejected the idea out of hand after assessing the damage already done to his body. Even if he had the strength to escape, where would he go? He could not return to Hobbiton, tainted as he was. His heart filled with self-loathing as images of the men and the things they had done to him came unbidden. He was worthless. No one would ever be able to love someone like him. He was filth now. Sobbing quietly, he brought the knife to his chest and wrapped his hand tightly about the blade. He would not allow them to batter his broken body any further. He knew he was near death already and vowed to take his life on his own terms, rather than allow these men to further satisfy their lusts. He felt the person who bore him stop, and he was slowly lowered onto a soft pallet. ‘There will be no more pain,’ he said to himself. He was suffused with a warm peace as he accepted that death was infinitely more preferable than life as a whore of man.

Estel entered the low building with Tulkas at his heels and took the small bundle into his own room. He had initially balked at the idea of having separate quarters from his men, but the men had insisted, saying it was his due as Chieftain. Now he was thankful for the privacy with which to treat his patient.

"Tulkas, I will need a large quantity of hot water, toweling, bandages and blankets," he said without looking up.

"Aye Estel, I'll take care of it," the huge man said as he hurried off to collect the requested items. Estel laid the battered body down on his cot and began to peel the blood soaked blanket away. Two startlingly blue eyes peered up at him from within the folds of the blanket. Estel stared silently back at the boy and could see why this youth had been an object of the ruffians’ lust. Even though the lad's face was a mass of bruises and contusions, with one eye nearly swollen shut from the battering, there was beauty here. Estel could see that innocence and a carefree spirit would have easily graced the handsome features and bile rose in his throat to know that these things had been brutally stolen from the lad.

"We mean you no harm, son. You are safe now...here in our cabin," Estel murmured in a low voice. He reached out and the boy recoiled weakly from him. "There, there lad. The men who did this to you are no longer a threat. We need to tend to your injuries then return you to your family," he whispered. He slowly grasped the edge of the blanket, peeling it back from the naked child.

He drew back sharply when he saw his own knife gripped fiercely in the small hand. The blade had cut deep into the palm, but the boy seemed oblivious to the pain of the wound. Blood trickled down the arm and pooled onto the boy's flat stomach. The small chest rose rapidly as adrenaline surged through the his veins. Estel locked eyes with the child and was alarmed to see a look of despair mingled with sad acceptance in those wells to his soul. He suddenly  
knew what this child intended to do, and his mouth went dry.

"We only wish to help you, son, please give me the blade before you harm yourself further," Estel said fervently.

"No. I deny you your prize," came the small voice. The blade was deftly turned, its sharp point drawing blood from the narrow chest, as it was positioned above the midline. "Now the pain will end," the boy whispered, his eyes slowly crept closed as he plunged the blade downward. Estel's hand shot out, grasping the slim wrist and taking the knife from the bloody hand. A gash appeared below the center of the narrow chest. It welled with blood, but it was shallow. Estel released his held breath in relief. There was no resistance as he took the knife and Estel looked sadly into the pain-filled countenance as the child broke into pitiful sobs. He felt gently at the pulse point and found a slow, hesitant beat. He quickly unwrapped the lad, laying him bare on the bed and gasped at what lay before him. This was no child, he quickly saw, but a young hobbit. He grasped one of the large feet tenderly, groaning as he saw that the hobbit had been brutally hobbled.

"You put up a struggle." He looked into the pale face with respect. "You must have been terrified to be so outmatched, yet you still fought them," the ranger smiled wanly down at the staring hobbit. The blue eyes studied him closely as if trying to decide if this man could be trusted or if he was merely setting him up as his own private slave for later. "You paid dearly for your actions. We will need to stitch these tendons back together later, I am afraid. I am  
sorry." His eyes moved from the feet slowly up the sturdy legs to the muscular thighs and upper body. This hobbit was unusual as hobbits went. His body was lean and willowy with a pale, ethereal beauty that seemed to radiate from within the perfectly proportioned form. He tensed under the scrutiny and Estel felt himself blush as he looked away. "Forgive  
me, I did not mean to embarrass you." He slowly rolled the body towards him, grimacing at what he saw. A large pool of bright red blood had settled beneath the hindquarters and Estel saw that a stream continued, unabated, to run down the thin legs. The small body shook violently with fear and cold as the hobbit continued to weep.

Estel spoke softly to him as he carefully wiped away the mud, pine needles, and blood that had adhered to his body. His patient suddenly stilled and Estel's head shot up. He saw that he had lost consciousness and Estel’s hands shook as he felt the narrow neck for a pulse. It was thready and weak, and he knew that if he did not act quickly, this small person would soon be beyond their care.

Tulkas appeared at his side bearing hot water and toweling. "A hobbit," he exclaimed in surprise. "Oh, the poor thing," he breathed. "Look what they've done to ya," he crooned gently.

"Tulkas, would you quickly retrieve some heavy bandages and layer them with powdered yarrow? If we don't stop our friend here he will bleed to death on us," Estel said urgently. His voice shook with emotion as he turned pleading eyes on the hulking ranger. Tulkas had assisted Estel many times with wounded comrades. He always worried about his  
Captain, as he seemed to lose a portion of himself each time he was unable to save a patient. He rose quickly, retrieving the yarrow, which he liberally sprinkled over a thick bandage and returned to Estel's side. He hissed involuntarily when he saw the bruised and battered backside of the hobbit as Estel washed away the blood, dirt and semen in an attempt to cleanse the wound.

Tulkas placed a hand on Estel's shoulder, "Estel, he is badly injured. Do not expect too much from this small one," he counseled sadly.

Estel looked up at him, his eyes glittering with tears. "To think that we are of the same race as those who did such a thing sickens me," he spat bitterly. He took the wad of gauze that Tulkas held out to him and slowly pushed it into the hobbit’s rectum. He left his fingers in the opening as he held pressure on the wound trying to halt the flow of  
blood. The bleeding continued as if they had done nothing and Estel pulled the bandage free from the small opening. Another bandage, larger than the first, was pushed inside and Estel moved up onto the bed pulling the hobbit into his lap. He moved the slim knees up and placed his whole fist deep within the bleeding wound. A sharp cry of pain escaped the hobbit’s swollen lips and Estel looked down into the pain-filled face.

"I am sorry, young one, but if we are to save your life, it is necessary," he whispered. Tulkas covered the hobbit loosely in a blanket and, retrieving warm water and a flannel, positioned himself opposite Estel. He tenderly began to wash away the blood and filth from the small face and hands. The slamming of a door and sound of hurried footsteps caused both men to look up suddenly. Tilion stopped short at the threshold to the Captain's private room seeing his  
leader sitting on the bed, back to the wall with a small body perched awkwardly on his lap. The Captain's face flushed slightly. "Yes, Tilion, what is it?" he asked gruffly.

"Uh...my Lord I only wished to know how the child fared," Tilion stammered.

"It is not a child, Tilion, it is a hobbit," Estel said angrily. Tulkas raised a corner of the blanket so that the overlarge feet could be seen.

Tilion blanched. "I...I've never seen a hobbit before, Captain Thorongil, I did not know." Estel smoothed the hair back from the shell shaped ear and Tilion's eyes widened. "I truly thought it was a child, sir, or I would have simply put him out of his misery."

It was a law that none of them liked but one that had been made in mutual agreement with the Shire dwellers. A hobbit, if ravaged, would be an outcast from hobbit society. The Shire inhabitants had decided hundreds of years before hand when the rangers had first started protecting their borders and the two races had enjoyed a much less strained relationship, that were a hobbit happened upon under these circumstances he would be, as painlessly as possible, released from this life in order to avoid bringing shame to his home. Hobbits that had been saved and returned to  
their families were generally shunned, thought of as tainted. They usually ended up taking their own lives in order to escape their own feelings of worthlessness and to free their families from the humiliation that their presence inevitably brought upon the household.

Estel knew this was thought of as the proper way of things, that he should have allowed the hobbit to simply bleed to death, but he could not bring himself to waste a life after it had been laid in his hands and was within his power to save.

"Tulkas, please brew some tea for our guest," Estel said quietly.

"Aye, Captain. What herbs shall we use for 'em?" asked the man.

Estel looked down into the slack countenance. "I believe yarrow and valerian to start with," he said softly, tenderly pushing the dirty curls from the hobbit's face.

"Is there anything I can do, Captain?" Tilion asked timidly.

Estel looked tiredly up at the young ranger. "We have pressure on the major source of his bleeding..." Tilion looked quizzically at his Captain noticing the awkward position in which the Captain sat and the absence of his other hand. Tulkas returned to the room with the steeped tea. He saw the confused look on Tilion's face and grinned.

"Captain? How..." the young ranger began.

"Ask no more questions, Tilion, there will be much for you to do later, but for now peace and quiet would be welcome," Captain Thorongil said this with a sigh and, without changing his position, closed his eyes and tipped his head tiredly back against the wall. Tilion glanced back one last time as he left the room.

Tulkas chuckled and Estel opened one eye to check that they were alone. "The thought of trying to explain the why and where of my hand's current location was more than I could take for right now," he said with a smile. Soft whimpers came from the small bundle and Estel looked down into frightened, tear-filled eyes. "Shhhh...we are trying to help you, Master Hobbit," he crooned. He studied the handsome face as the blue eyes peered back at him in abject terror. Estel brought the cup to the bruised lips, saying, "There now, this will ease your pain. Drink it down and then rest, fearing nothing. I swear an oath to you that I will not let anything hurt you ever again." Estel said the last without thinking. Realizing his words, he started as he realized he had sworn a solemn oath to be this small person's champion and protector, though he knew him not. He expected to feel uneasy at having blurted such a promise, but found instead, that he was filled with a warm peace at the realization that this was something he truly wanted to do. The hobbit studied him quizzically as if, he too, were surprised by the unbidden words of devotion.

Frodo peered up at the man who cradled him to his breast. He had been frightened at first, thinking that this man and his companions had only saved him so that they could use his body for sport themselves. But no blows had fallen. His rectum throbbed with a dull pain and Frodo blushed when he realized that this man that held him had placed his huge fist up inside of him. At first he had thought this was some strange depravity of men, but then had overheard them as they spoke saying that it was necessary to stop the bleeding. As he was held tenderly to this man's chest, he finally felt safe and protected. The man was dirty and scruffy, but handsome in a rough way. The dirt was the kind brought on by a day's work, not like the sour smell of Gant's body as he had crushed him to him. This man smelled of campfire, pine, and sweat, which were not unpleasant odors. His gray eyes looked down at Frodo with concern and Frodo realized  
with a start, that the man did not take his oath lightly - that Frodo would have his protection although he did not understand why. Why would this complete stranger want to protect him, a hobbit, beyond succor in this life and forever unworthy and wanting of love? He began to grow sleepy as countless questions filled his aching head.

His eyelids drooped and his last thought was that, perhaps, it would not be so bad a thing to stay here with this man. Then he would not have to return to Bag End and face the rejection of his friends and family. Perhaps all was not lost as yet.

TBC


	3. Master Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is purely a work of fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to the beloved characters, places or events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/ everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

Chapter 3

 

Sam Gamgee studied the tree line for the 100th time that ran along the crest of the low mountain. It had been the last place he'd seen his master since he'd departed three days past. Three days. His master had assured him that he would only be gone one or two at most and Sam was worried. It was not unlike his master to lose track of time when he was deep in thought, and Sam tried to reassure himself that that was what had happened. He forced himself to return his attentions to the marigolds he was bent over, but the gnawing uneasiness in his stomach would not go away.

He heard the approach of light footsteps and looked up sharply, expecting to see the tired, if satisfied, face of his Mr. Frodo. Disappointment filled him as he saw it was only his sister, Daisy.

"Well, I'm happy to see you too, Samwise Gamgee. That look on your face was clear enough even to me," Daisy said jokingly.

"I thought you might 'a been Mr. Frodo is all," Sam said with a blush.

"The Master ain't back *yet*?" Daisy asked in surprise.

"No and I'm right worried, I am," Sam said, glancing up at the tree line.

"You know Mr. Frodo, Sam. He probably met up with some of his elves or dwarves or what not and jes' lost track 'a time," Daisy said as she sat Sam's luncheon basket on the step.

"Mayhap," Sam muttered, unconvinced. "But he told me he'd be back for that meetin' with the tenants, and he wouldn't never leave 'em high 'n dry without a good excuse," Sam said quietly. "They was all good 'n mad when he didn't show," he added.

"Tis a bit unlike the Master, but I'm sure he's all right. He's only a day late, and I'm sure he'll show up and make it right with 'em." She said her goodbyes, telling him she'd be back later for the empty basket, and made her way back down to #3.

Sam thought about his Master as he worked. Mr. Frodo had tried to hide his loneliness from all of them, and Sam had tried to help him by staying for dinner and checking in on him. As his name implied, Sam had been wise to Mr. Frodo's aberrant behavior ever since Mr. Bilbo had up and left. His worries had come to a head when he had overheard his master talking quietly to himself, and to Mr. Bilbo, as if the older hobbit were actually there. Sam talked to himself all the time and generally thought nothing of it, but this had been different. Mr. Frodo had spoken as if the old hobbit were present, carrying on an active conversation, including a small disagreement, before retreating from Sam's hearing.

After that he had tried to get his Master out of the too-silent house, even inviting him to come on excursions to the Dragon, but Mr. Frodo had come less and less as he retreated into his own quiet world. Sam shook his head. He had never been truly alone like his master. He'd always been constantly surrounded by the chatter and banter of his brothers and sisters, and thought that, were he left alone in Bag End or #3 for that matter, the silence would have slowly driven him mad. Even now, at the end of his day, as he had walked through the smial to draw water or set the grate to rights in the huge bedroom, he had found the silence deafening and had left as quickly as possible. He placed a lit lantern, every night, so that Mr. Frodo would at least have light enough to enter the hole. Each following morning Sam had came to work, only to find the lantern untouched and cold where he had left it.

He glanced over at the basket Daisy had left and found that he had no appetite. He looked up at the tree line one last time, muttering quietly, "Where are you, Mr. Frodo".

*************************************

Although pain from various parts of his body assailed him, Frodo awoke, feeling safe and secure, and warmly ensconced in a snug embrace. The scent of wood smoke, pine and sweat greeted his nose. He slowly opened his eyes to see, with a start, that he lay against a Man's chest, cradled protectively within his arms. He studied the rugged face as the Man reclined against the wall, eyes closed in sleep. Frodo took in each of the features of the stranger. Dark, long hair that hung shaggily to his shoulders, and his slightly opened lips were relaxed in peaceful repose. The face may have been a bit haggard, but there was also gentleness to it. His jaw supported a light growth of whiskers, and Frodo was filled with curiosity as to how they would feel against his skin. He blushed.

This was a *Man* and, thus far, Frodo's experiences with Men had been less than ideal. Men were cruel, he told himself, ruthlessly forcing their large bodies upon those weaker than themselves in acts of domination. Even though this Man had, not as yet, shown these traits, he was still a Man. Frodo was sickeningly sure that the acts of torture would re-commence once he was healed enough to be taken. Still, with his curiosity awakened, he tried to reach up and feel the light stubble of beard, but soon found he was much too weak to do so.  
Realizing this was not to be, he began to assess the damage to his body. Embarrassed, he found that the Man's hand was still up inside his body. He moved slightly, not wishing to awaken the healer, but wanting to dislodge the huge hand. He was successful as the Man's fist was dislodged, the Ranger emitting a sigh as he did so. The Man laid the hand on top of Frodo's blanketed stomach.   
The hand’s movement had almost brought a scream of pain from Frodo as it was removed. He had had to bite his lip hard to avoid making a sound. Tears filled his eyes as his rectum pulsed with the beat of his racing heart. At last, Frodo sighed in relief as the spasms gradually diminished, feeling a wave of humiliation at where the Man had had the appendage.   
He tried to move his feet, but all sensation had long since left them. In a daze he massaged his wooden limbs, and was dismayed as he realized he suddenly needed to urinate. He looked about the room, but saw only sparse furnishings, and no chamber pot.  
Shakily, he pulled his hand from the blanket and reached as far under the bed as he could. ‘Ah, there it is’, he thought. Trembling, he fastened his grip around the rim and laboriously began to inch it towards the bed's edge. He panted harshly at the effort and leaned out, putting all of his strength into the effort. He lost his grip and the sudden movement rolled him off the Ranger's lap, and over the edge of the bed onto the hard floor with a clunk.   
Frodo cried out as agony ripped through his body. He wept, his body shuddering convulsively as his vision narrowed. He prayed to become insensate, but it was not to be. He pressed his sweaty forehead to the floor, drawing a small measure of relief from its coolness. A gentle hand was laid upon his back as the blanket was pulled slowly back from his head. A sympathetic face filled his vision as light gray eyes met his.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Master Hobbit?” came the husky voice. "You are too sorely injured to be executing such maneuvers." Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, willing the spasms that wracked his body to dissipate. He whimpered as he was slowly lifted into the Ranger's arms. The Man's gaze was drawn downward, and he blushed crimson when his eyes lit on Frodo's erect penis. He took in the sight of the chamber pot that was partially pulled from beneath the bed.  
"Ah, I see now, and should have guessed as much," he whispered. Frodo blushed furiously as he was raised to his knees and the pot was produced from under the bed. "In the future, Master Hobbit, you will make your needs known and we will bring a basin for you to relieve yourself into," the Ranger said gruffly.  
Frodo's vision dimmed and his head fell limply to his breast as he was raised and held over the chamber pot. His feet never touched the floor as the Man, holding him aloft, gently grasped his penis and held him over the vessel. He gulped, unable to void, as he hung, humiliated beyond belief, within the Ranger's arms.  
"There is no need for embarrassment, I assure you. I am a healer and have had to assist many who could not, otherwise, help themselves," Estel crooned. It mattered not to Frodo how many patients this Man had tended. He had had only one experience where a Man had grasped him thus. A vision of Gant roughly squeezing and pumping him came to him, unbidden. He sobbed softly, fearful that this was yet another preamble to violation.  
"It is all right, my friend. I have no ulterior motives, I assure you," the Man murmured tenderly. Frodo found the words and tenor of the Man's voice calming, and his stream began to flow. He cried out as pain shot through his organ and into his abdomen, a lingering effect of Gant's brutality. The agony warred with relief as finally he finished. The pot was pushed back underneath the bed to be emptied later, and he was gently lifted and placed onto the bed.   
A cool cup of water was brought to his bruised lips and he gulped thirstily. It was removed suddenly, and he plaintively cried out. "You must drink slowly, Master Hobbit, or you will retch," said the Man. The cup re-materialized, and Frodo tried to drink slowly, even though his parched throat cried out for relief. When at last his thirst was slaked, the cup was removed and Frodo slowly opened his eyes to peer up at the Ranger.   
"I am afraid we have some unpleasantness to deal with in order for your body to heal properly. I should warn you that the first will be uncomfortable, and the last very painful. I am very sorry but it is necessary to speed your healing." The Man studied Frodo's face. Frodo cringed away, knowing what was to come. What this Man called 'necessary healing' he was certain meant the satisfaction of the Ranger's lust. He turned his head away and began to sob quietly.

 

He is beautiful, Estel thought. It was the only word that could describe the hobbit that lay within his arms. He had rebuked himself soundly for the jolt of pleasure and the tingling desire that had surged through him as he had held the perfectly proportioned penis in his hand. He had to force himself to remember that the small body that he held so tenderly had already been brutally ravaged by Men, and the last thing he needed or, Estel was certain, *desired* was another Man hovering over him. After the hobbit had finished urinating he placed him gently on the pallet and covered his nakedness, hoping to avoid further enticement.  
"First, Master Hobbit, there is the matter of flushing the filth from your rectum," he said in a clinical voice. The hobbit's eyes became incredibly large, and Estel had to take a deep breath as their beautiful depths struck him again. The hobbit began to shake and a small cry of protest escaped his lips. Feebly, he tried to creep backwards, away from what he must have thought certain to be more abuse at the hands of a Man. His face paled and a sheen of sweat appeared above his lip as he panted with the effort, finally collapsing, spent, and having made no headway.  
"I am not here to hurt or abuse you. I realize it may seem thus, but it is not. It is necessary to flush the pollution from your body that was so cruelly planted within you, in order to stem any possible infection in the tears and abrasions," the Ranger said softly.

"Tilion," he called briskly. The hobbit jumped at the raised voice. Tilion appeared almost immediately, and Estel was certain the younger Ranger had been waiting just outside the doorway.

"Yes, my Captain?" the Man asked.

"Fetch Tulkas and have him prepare a basin of athelas water," he commanded.

"Yes, Captain. Do you wish me to bring Tulkas in to assist you afterwards?" Tilion asked tentatively.

Estel studied the sobbing hobbit. "First I believe I would like him to brew a tea of yellow dock root and valerian for our guest. When he has it ready, inform him then that he will be needed to assist me". He glanced sideways at Tilion. "I will need your assistance as well," he added, with the tiniest smile.

"Yes, my Lord," Tilion said, obviously eager at the chance to help the wounded hobbit, and also to be back in his Captain’s good graces. Tilion dashed out, hurriedly speaking to Tulkas in the other room. Estel smiled secretly to himself. Perhaps the younger Man, with his gentle face, could help calm the distraught hobbit. In short order Tulkas appeared in the doorway, bearing the basin and a steaming cup of tea.

If Frodo had felt fear at the thought of this Man attending to his nether regions, it was nothing compared to the abject terror that gripped him as he saw the huge, hulking Man walk into his line of sight and fill the doorway.   
He was suddenly seized with the memory of Gant's sweaty body laying heavily over his own and pumping deeply and painfully into him. The mere thought of these Men taking and ravaging him was too much, and he drew on hidden reserves of strength as adrenaline shot through him. He screamed and catapulted himself backwards off the bed, onto the cold floor. His vision blackened and he felt faint and nauseous, but, biting the inside of his mouth viciously, he returned to the present enough to foggily see looks of concern and confusion on the three faces. He moved weakly backwards, dragging his useless feet across the stone as blood dribbled unheeded, down his chin. He cried out as pain lanced through him, but relentlessly continued away from his attackers, until his back came abruptly up against the wall. He sobbed loudly as he curled his naked body into a ball.  
"No...please, no. I beg you, no more," he whimpered hoarsely.

Estel dropped to his hands and knees, crawling slowly towards the trembling hobbit, murmuring words of reassurance as he approached. "We mean you no harm, little one. Indeed, all here would lay down their lives to protect you," he whispered.

The other Rangers nodded and murmured agreement. Frodo feebly lifted his head and studied three pairs of gentle, concerned eyes, fixing lastly on the largest Man. He trembled. Was it his imagination or did this giant before him have an expression of hurt?

He knew he had not the strength to fight them. He was cornered, and he closed his eyes in defeat. The leader, the one who had promised his allegiance earlier, was on all fours and slowly reached out to him. He tenderly gathered him to his chest and, rising slowly, brought him back to the pallet. Frodo clutched at the Man, his eyes never leaving the behemoth.

"What should I do, Estel? The little one is obviously terrified of me," Tulkas said sadly.  
Estel waved him off and, kneeling by the bed, made eye contact with the hobbit. He was alarmed as he looked at the sweat-covered and too-pale face. The hobbit's lip quivered as his eyes filled… eyes that were still fixed unwaveringly upon Tulkas. He knew how much the attempt to escape had drained the hobbit's limited reserves, and feared for him as he felt the pattering heartbeat within his chest. He covered the naked body slowly, so as not to further alarm him.

"Fear not, Master Hobbit, you are in the company of friends now," he said quietly. Frodo's eyes filled with suspicion and darted back to the huge Ranger. "This gargantuan monster is Tulkas," he said with a small smile.

"Oy, here now, Estel. No need to frighten him any more than he already is. Besides, I take exception to your description. I'll have you know that I am a good deal lighter than I was a season ago. As to the 'monster' comment, well, I won't even dignify that with a response, no sir," he harrumphed indignantly.

For just a moment, Estel thought he had seen a glimmer of a smile in the hobbit's eyes, but then it was gone just as fast. He felt a surge of hope that they might actually be winning the hobbit over after all.  
"This young Ranger is Tilion. He is a worthy and valued member of our small group," Estel said gently. Tilion's mouth fell open as he heard, for the first time, praise from his Captain. He smiled widely as he locked eyes with Frodo.

"And I am Estel, currently the Chieftain of the Rangers of the North. You have my word, nay, my oath that none of my Men will ever bring you to harm. You are safe with us," the Ranger named Estel said fervently.

Frodo's eyes locked with the Chieftain's, and he felt a sudden trust as the gray eyes looked tenderly down into his own. Shakily he raised his hand to the Man's face. The Ranger at first looked startled by the gesture, but then the look turned to one of devotion. Estel raised his hand slowly, capturing the smaller one and pressing it firmly against his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into it, and his thumb moved to the slender wrist, caressing it in slow circles. Frodo's stomach tingled at the caress and he wondered as a jolt of attraction seized him.  
Estel, as if becoming aware of his actions, felt his face flush and slowly lowered the hand, somewhat begrudgingly, onto the hobbit's chest.  
"Will you allow us to tend your hurts, Master Hobbit?" he asked in a low, husky voice. An almost imperceptible nod came from the hobbit and Estel offered him a warm smile.

"Very well," he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to shake the moment and regain a more clinical mien. He gently turned Frodo onto his side. Frodo gulped at what he knew was to come. Towels were placed beneath his bottom as Estel filled a casing with the athelas water. He punctured one end, inserting a narrow reed into it. He gave a nod to Tulkas who approached the bed slowly, knelt beside the pallet and gently raised the hobbit's lower extremities. Tilion moved to the head of the bed and took the frightened hobbit's hand into his own. He murmured quietly to the quaking form as Estel slowly inserted the reed into Frodo's rectum. Frodo cried out as a sudden ripping agony lanced through him. His grip on Tilion's hand tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tilion slowly rubbed the top of Frodo's hand in a sympathetic caress.

Estel swallowed hard. He did not wish to inflict further pain on the hobbit, but knew that what he was about to do was necessary. Slowly he compressed the bolus, pushing a stream of warm, scented water into the small body. Frodo sobbed as his throbbing abdomen was filled. The Ranger continued watching as old blood, pus, and dirt was flushed from the orifice, and clenched his jaw in anger to see the stream of filth that dribbled onto the towels. He gently removed the reed and wiped at the hole. Tulkas lowered Frodo back to the bed after removing the tainted towels. A relieved sigh escaped Frodo's lips as he released Tilion's hand, giving the Ranger a thankful smile. Tilion smiled back slowly.

"Tulkas, if that large wash basin were filled with water, would you be able to carry it?" Estel asked him quietly.

"Aye, with no effort at all, Estel," the man said. He rose and left the room.

"Tilion, after Tulkas brings the wash basin I would like you to fill it with warm water, please. It is time we washed this hobbit, I think," he said with a grin.

"Yes, Captain," the young Ranger said, smiling hesitantly. He shot to his feet and fairly ran to the kitchen to heat the water. Tulkas soon returned with the basin as Estel was trying to coerce the hobbit into drinking the bitter tea.

"I know it does not taste very palatable, but you must drink it. It will help soften your stools so that you will not have to struggle to expel them." Frodo blushed, but nevertheless, drank the tea. He eyed the washbasin warily as Tilion began to fill it with the warmed water. He knew that his body had already been seen by these Men, though he had tried to conceal his nakedness, but to have them present while he bathed was humiliating.

"I know what you are thinking, my friend, but fear not. Tulkas and Tilion will not be present while you are bathed, and we will cover you with a cloth so that you may retain your dignity. I could use a bath as well, it would seem," the Ranger said as he glanced down at his soot- and sweat-covered torso. "I ought to crawl in there with you and get a good scrub, shouldn't I?" Even as the words left his lips, he knew it had come out not at all as he had intended. 'Just how *did* you intend it, Estel?' a small voice asked. He blushed bright red as he stammered an explanation. "Ur...I mean, I should need a bath as well and the idea of sinking into that warmth is....," he flushed even darker, if possible. "I did not mean to, uh, imply that I would, uh, share your tub," the Ranger stammered.

Frodo smiled slowly at the man's obvious discomfiture. Estel grinned at the smiling hobbit, no less embarrassed. "I am hopeless, it would seem. *You* seem to enjoy watching me twist in the wind, my Shire friend," Estel said with a grimace. He was rewarded with an even broader smile and a single giggle. It was like music to the Man's ears, and he broke into a hearty laugh at his own expense.

Once the bath was filled Estel retrieved athelas and crumbled it upon the water. He spoke soft words under his breath that Frodo could not pick out. He gathered the patient gently from the folds of the filthy blanket, covering the hobbit's groin with a cloth, and then lowered him slowly into the bath. A dizzying sensation overcame Frodo as the scent of the herb filled his nostrils. The bath was as a warm caress upon his skin, until his feet touched the water. Then he cried out and writhed in agony.

"Sssh, the pain will fade," Estel crooned. "I am sorry. It seems I am forever inflicting additional torment upon you, but it is unfortunately, necessary. We will wash away the reminders of your abuse as we soak your lacerated ankles.” Murmuring softly, he soaped and rinsed the pale skin. He swallowed thickly as he beheld the revealed luminescence of the hobbit. He felt his groin stir and angrily chastised himself for his thoughts. As he washed the hobbit's abdomen, Frodo blushed and turned his head away, feeling himself begin to harden. Estel noticed the cloth as it rose slightly and discretely looked away. Frodo swallowed and closed his eyes as he willed his body not to react to the Man’s touch.

Once his body had been cleaned, Estel lifted the hobbit from the bath. He called to Tulkas, who entered the room hesitantly. With a grunt, the larger Man removed the tub, taking it to be dumped. Much to Frodo's surprise, Tulkas soon returned with the emptied washbasin, refilling it with clean water. Frodo was lowered, once again, into the fresh bath.

"I am afraid you were quite filthy," Estel explained. He slowly poured cups of water over Frodo's matted curls and began to lather and then rinse them until they gleamed. Estel smiled when Frodo elicited a murmur of pleasure. The ranger gulped as he thought of the last area of the hobbit's anatomy that needed to be washed. "My apologies, Master Hobbit, but I must wash your nether regions now," he said apologetically.

Frodo's face flushed at the thought of this Man slowly moving the flannel over his genitals. He swallowed and gave a short nod. Estel removed the toweling and drew in a slow breath. The hobbit's penis was almost fully erect, and it took all of Estel's self control not to give in to the urge to lean over and take the organ into his mouth.   
His breath came in short gasps as he lathered the sack, the organ and the hobbit's rear end. Languidly he rinsed the area, careful not to touch the erection. The hobbit's eyes were closed, his face a rosy flush. His lips were slightly apart and an almost imperceptible moan could be heard. He was aroused, but obviously terrified.  
Estel quickly covered the hobbit and silently cursed himself for his lustful thoughts. Tears filled his eyes as he angrily berated himself. How could he even think such thoughts? This youngling had been tortured and raped only hours before, and he felt he was no less guilty than the hobbit’s attackers, allowing his desires to almost rule him.

"It is all right, Master Hobbit. We are finished for now," he said gruffly. Frodo opened his eyes, confused at the Ranger's sudden abruptness. He looked questioningly up at the healer, but the Man refused to make eye contact. He was lifted suddenly from the bath and dried tenderly, if a bit quickly, by the Man. He was then wrapped in a clean blanket and placed on the bed. The previous humor of only moments before was gone; the Man's face now reflected a grim, clinical mien. As Frodo mused over the change, a feeling of dread filled him. The Man was disgusted with him; it was the only reason Frodo could think of for the sudden change in demeanor. He turned his face away as self-loathing overwhelmed him. He was tainted and spoiled, and no one would ever love or accept him again. Hopelessness overcame him, and he curled painfully onto his side.

Estel frowned at the distressed hobbit. "I will bring more tea and perhaps some soup. You must be famished. I know how hobbits enjoy their numerous meals," he said in concern.   
He placed a gentle hand on the hobbit's shoulder and slowly turned him towards him. He smoothed a chestnut curl back from the pale forehead. He frowned. The hobbit was warm, warmer than he should be. Mentally he made a note to include Echinacea and willow bark in the already bitter tea. Perhaps some honey -did they have any honey?- would make it more palatable. The haunted blue eyes were filled with tears, and Estel's concern heightened.

"There, there...there is no need for tears. You are safe," he said gently, misreading the emotions that threatened to destroy Frodo's world. He smiled tenderly. "I am hoping that, eventually, you will learn to trust us, perhaps even deem it safe to give us a name. Master Hobbit seems somehow an unworthy title for someone so.... umm," Estel stopped, catching himself before he told the hobbit how beautiful he was.

"Well, I should fetch your meal," he said as he rose suddenly.

"Frodo," said a small voice.

Estel turned, startled, and looked down at the hobbit. "What did you say?" he asked.

Frodo locked eyes with the caring gray of the Ranger. "Frodo. My name is Frodo," he said quietly.

Estel smiled, and Frodo was again struck by how handsome the Man was. 'He should smile more often,' thought the hobbit.

"Frodo, then. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Frodo," he said in a low voice. In the doorway he glanced back one last time, grinning widely, before leaving the room to retrieve the meal.

Frodo smiled. Perhaps he had mistaken the Ranger's previous actions.

"Estel," he said softly to himself, and closed his eyes, a smile still upon his lips.

TBC


	4. Painful Remedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is purely a work of fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to the beloved characters, places or events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/ everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

As Estel exited the room he almost bumped into Tilion who was making his way inside with the soup, tea, water and something that looked suspiciously like biscuits. He frowned.

"This will all need to be kept warm for a few moments. Frodo has fallen into a doze," he said gruffly.

Tilion nodded and turned to head back to the kitchen.

"And Tilion..."

"Yes Captain?" the young ranger said, turning back.

"No biscuits. Liquids only until he has had time to recover." Estel said it with a smirk knowing full well that Tulkas had been the culprit. He imagined that the large man had taken one look at the water, tea and clear broth and grunted his disapproval at such starvation fare, then had included his *own* addition.

"Yes Captain," Tilion said. As he turned he broke into a large smile. The small hobbit, it seemed, had had a softening effect on his Captain, making him more jovial than Tilion could remember.

Estel gathered some cleaner clothing, soap and a towel and went to the front door. He opened it and stood gaping at the winter wonderland that greeted him.

"Estel, I can heat some water for you to wash with," boomed a voice near his ear.

He tried not to flinch at the sudden appearance of his friend at his elbow. "No, Tulkas, I think today the cold will feel...uh...refreshing," he said without taking his eyes from the direction of the frozen stream. He would not tell the behemoth that he *needed* the water to be cold in order to ward off the effects a certain injured hobbit had had on him. Tulkas shrugged. It was not uncommon for the men that regularly bathed to do so no matter the weather but, so far, no one had been inclined to sink into an icy stream.

Estel grit his teeth and walked briskly to the river and, without preamble and before he could change his mind, stripped and jumped in. He almost yelled at the sudden frigid temperature on his skin. He lathered and rinsed rapidly, his breath coming out in great plumes on the glacial air, and his head pounding with sudden pain when he dipped to rinse below the icy water. He toweled and dressed quickly and ran back to the shelter and the certainty of a warm fire. As he burst through the door he was greeted, firstly, by Tulkas holding out a blanket which was quickly wrapped about him amidst much tutting, and secondly the remaining members of the group laughing and clapping after watching the frantic movements of their leader. Estel's face, reddened already by the cold, became even more so as he flushed with embarrassment. Instead of showing his chagrin he simply bowed and thanked them profusely and a new round of cheers and whistles followed him as he crossed to the fire. His eyes searched the room slowly. "Where is Tilion?" he asked.

"The small one awoke soon after you were stupid enough to risk pneumonia by bathin' in an icy cold stream, and took the soup to 'em. He scowled. "Don't worry, I didn't give 'em no biscuits," he grumbled.

Estel smiled. "Tulkas, you of all here know that if he were to have a regular formed movement that it would likely tear him apart after what he's been through."

"I suppose you're right, Estel," he admitted grudgingly. "I guess clear liquids it is, at least for the next few days," he added.

"After that, if he's stopped bleeding, we can give him something more substantial." He frowned, remembering something from earlier. "I fear that our guest is developing an infection, but whether from his sexual abuse or the hobbling, I do not know."

Tulkas leaned towards him. "Why would you think this, Estel?" he asked quietly.

"He was warm earlier...warmer than he should be." He grinned sheepishly. "It's probably nothing more than the effects of too warm a bath and here I am worrying. I'll go check on him and put my mind at ease."

Tulkas smiled. "I know he's only been with us here for a few days but he does have a way of gettin' his hooks in one's heart, doesn't he?"

Estel smiled. "That he does, old friend. I feel a fierce protectiveness that almost overpowers me whenever I look into his guileless blue eyes." He chuckled, realizing, too late, that he sounded like some lovesick puppy, clapped the hulking man on the shoulder and made his way towards his room. He was about to enter when the sound of low voices stopped him. He peeked around the doorframe. Tilion sat facing Frodo, his back to the door and thus, blocking the hobbit's view of anyone who might enter unannounced. The young ranger's movements indicated that he was spooning broth into the invalid's mouth.

"...it seems wrong, though," came a small voice.

"But it is as things are meant to be, Frodo. The other men have been in his service far longer than I and have become, well, his friends as well as his fellow rangers. They call him 'Estel', and I, well, I am younger and I...umm..."

"What? Yes, you are younger but you have been in this band for twelve years, by your own reckoning. Why do you call him Captain when no one else does? What aren't you telling me, Tilion?" The hobbit pressed.

A palpable silence filled the room. "I do not think that the Captain likes me very much, Frodo," came the low, hurt response. Estel's mouth dropped open in shock and he moved to lean his back against the wall. How could he have let it come to this? How could he explain to this boy that to look on him was to see the mirror image of his deceased friend?

"I am sure you are quite mistaken," came the hobbit's voice, and Estel had to smile at the sound of the cultured rebuke.

"I wonder, oft times, if I am a disappointment. My father was a brave man and ranger. He was also the Captain's very closest friend. I know that the Captain blames himself needlessly for my father's death. When my father died, my mother told me he had asked the Captain to take me in and train me to be a ranger. I wonder if I have not lived up to what my father was and that is why Captain Thorongil seems constantly vexed by my actions." Estel cringed inwardly listening to the child of his friend, berating himself for his subconscious actions. "I have something of my father's. Would you like to see it, Frodo?"

"Very much," came the wan reply. There was the sound of material rustling and then a gasp. "Oh, it is beautiful. What is it?"

"It is the star of a Ranger of the North. Rangers wear them on their cloaks. They are a proud emblem symbolizing the causes of good and all things that are true and just," Tilion said reverently.

"It is a fine heirloom, but why do you not wear it?" asked Frodo.

"Someday, perhaps, if I am deemed worthy," was the reply. Estel had not known what had become of the brooch and had wanted Tilion to have it to wear many years back, after showing his mastery of the bow and his stealth in movement. He had been unable to locate it to give to him. 'One mystery solved,' he thought to himself. He sighed. There was much still to learn from the boy, it would seem.

"I remember Captain Thorongil well when I was very small, only then I called him 'Uncle Estel'," Tilion said wistfully. “He laughed and smiled more often and never would you see him without my father by his side or vice versa. I always looked forward to when father would come home so I could be with them both," he laughed. "He was a great prankster, especially with my mother, and would tickle me mercilessly. He would sit with me on his lap, and tell me tales of the elves and other people of Middle Earth." His voice drifted off, captured in the memory of a time long past.

"I can imagine he was quite handsome when he smiled," mused Frodo quietly. Estel almost laughed out loud at being thought of as 'handsome'...unkempt, rugged, even scruffy but never handsome.

"Are you all right, Frodo? You seem quite tired today," Tilion asked with concern.

"I am a bit but want to hear more. Tell me, what else you know about your Captain."

A pause, then "Well, his father was killed when he was but an infant, by orcs and his mother took him and fled to the home of a friend..."

"How horrible for him," Frodo gasped.

"Yes. Not long after, his mother died as well and he was raised by the friend."

"It would seem the three of us, at least, have *that* much in common," murmured Frodo.

"What would that be, Frodo?"

"You lost your father and would have been about the same age as I was when my parents drowned on the Brandywine." His voice drifted away.

"Oh Frodo, I am so sorry. I did not mean to bring back bad memories. I did not know," exclaimed Tilion.

"It was long ago," came the distracted reply. "And it seems your mysterious Captain has had the same heartache as we have," he added. There was a heavy silence as they reflected on this. "I am sorry. How rude of me to have interrupted you." Frodo's voice rallied.

"Not at all. Let’s see, oh...the friend's house. Well, the man had a daughter. She and the Captain grew up together, I understand, and she is said to be the most beautiful woman in the whole of Middle Earth. I have heard that, one day, they will be wed and ... Frodo, are you all right?"

"No ...no I...I am all right. You just caught me by surprise is all," said the small voice. Estel was too shocked to move. Yes, Arwen and he had grown up together, well *he* had grown up while she had stayed the same, but they were brother and sister, nothing more. He frowned. He thought he had heard disappointment as Frodo had spoken. And had he imagined it or had the hobbit's voice trembled slightly?

"Is there something that upsets you about this union?" asked Tilion, wondering if the hobbit knew something he did not. Estel cringed wanting to jump around the corner and shout that the ranger had heard wrong but also wanting to continue to lurk in the shadows and see what else might have been heard about his life and habits.

"Of course not. I ... I am happy for him." The hobbit did not *sound* very happy, Estel mused. "He ... he seems a kind man and deserves whatever happiness he can find," came the rather shaky reply.

"I did not mean to upset you...”

"I am not upset. Please, go on," came the obviously upset reply.

"Well, there is nothing more to tell, truly. What of you, Frodo? Surely you have loved ones waiting and worrying about you back home?" There was a long pause; so long that Estel began to think that perhaps he had missed the answer, when he heard the small, sad voice.

"No. There is no one. I am alone," the hobbit whispered hollowly. Estel felt a pang of pity, knowing well what it was like to be lonely.

"No one? Surely you jest. You have friends I am sure."

"Well there's Sam. He's my gardener and best friend. Oh, I imagine he is sick with worry by now. I am long overdue for my return," he said with concern.

"Perhaps we could get a message to him," volunteered Tilion.

Frodo's voice came alive. "Do you really think so? Oh, I would be so grateful. Poor, dear Sam, he worries about me like a mother hen. Could we truly send him a note?"

Estel decided now was as good a time as any to make his entrance. When he walked in, Tilion jumped up so quickly he almost upset the remaining soup.

"Captain ... er, we were just discussing possibly sending a letter to Frodo's home to let them know he is all right, sir," the young ranger said, snapping to attention.

"That is an excellent idea, Tilion." He turned to look at the hobbit, missing the look of incredulity that covered Tilion's face. "Frodo?" Estel frowned in alarm and moved closer to the bed. He placed his still icy hands on the hobbit's face, causing Frodo to lean into their cool relief with a sigh. "You are burning up. Tilion, please have Tulkas brew Frodo some tea. Tell him to use Echinacea, willow bark, rue, yellow dock root and dittany and see if you can persuade him to part with some of his precious honey for our guest," he said briskly.

Frodo smiled wanly up at him. Estel knelt beside the hobbit and gently pushed the curls back from the sweaty forehead. "Oh Frodo, I am so sorry. Sorry for what they did to you and sorry for what is still to come."

Frodo's fever bright eyes flew open. "So, you are no different than those who attacked me earlier. You pretend to care and nurture me only so that you can use me and toss me aside. I was wrong to consider trusting you. It is obvious to me now, that all men are the same, wanting only what they can take and not caring whom they hurt in order to satisfy their desires." Frodo spoke vehemently while attempting to move away from the man and the hand that lay on his forehead.

Estel pulled back sharply, surprised by the rebuke, and then remembered his words and understanding the hobbit's sudden change in demeanor. "No. Oh, no Frodo...I was not.... I was speaking of the tendons in your feet that we will have to repair. I am sorry if I frightened you. I stand by my oath; no one will ever hurt you again." He enunciated each word carefully as he watched the hobbit gradually quiet and sag backwards onto the bed.

"I... I am mortified. You must think me an ungrateful fool," Frodo whispered.

"I do not. You have only known me a short time. It is too soon to expect you to believe that my words will match my actions. I am not offended," Estel said softly.

Tilion returned at that moment, the requested tea in hand, and with Tulkas on his heels. Tulkas paused at the threshold, remembering the hobbit's previous reaction, and uncertain of how to proceed. In his hands he held a basin of warm athelas water.

Frodo slowly sipped the tea, making a bitter face. He looked up at the huge man with fever-glazed eyes and, although he tensed, forced a small smile to his lips. "Forgive my earlier rudeness, please. I was... I was overwhelmed by your size. Frodo Baggins at your service and your family's," he said timidly, offering the standard Shire greeting.

"No need to apologize, little Master, it is a common reaction from all whom I meet and understandable, under the circumstances," Tulkas said quietly. He entered slowly, despite the apparent truce, and placed the basin on a stool at the end of the bed. He remained in the room, knowing that his presence would be needed for what was to come.

At the mention of the name 'Baggins', Estel had looked up, knowing only one other hobbit by that name. He decided to question Frodo further about his tie to the other hobbit sometime later, but knew he had a more unpleasant task to see to first. "Frodo, there will be much pain in what we are about to do. I am going to give you an herb that will make you sleepy and dull the hurts," Estel said calmly, although he felt anything but calm at that moment.

"That is quite unnecessary, I am sure," Frodo said. "I feel as fine as can be expected and am sure I can tolerate whatever it is you have to do without being drugged," he added, indignant. In truth, he was apprehensive about what the ranger had planned but wished to keep his wits about him in case he needed to, however weakly, fight off any would be attack. He tried to squelch his lingering doubts about the man's good intentions, but could still not believe that, at some point, his body would not be subjected to the same ravaging as what had brought him to this home in the first place.

"I am afraid I must insist, my friend. I will not have you moving while I work." Frodo's expression changed to one of anger then, just as quickly, to fierce stubbornness. After staring at each for many seconds, it slowly softened to one of acceptance and defeat. Estel smiled at the glimpse of the hobbit's true nature that had peeked through the pain.

"Very well," he said, resigned to the inevitable. Estel scooped a small dollop of the poppy paste onto his finger and slipped it into Frodo's mouth.

"Hold this under your tongue until it is dissolved," he instructed. Frodo grimaced at the bitter flavor, and Estel could not help but grin. "I am sorry for the taste, Frodo, but I promise the effect of the drug is almost instantaneous and soon, you will not notice it.

True to his word Frodo began to feel groggy and disconnected from his surroundings. His eyes glazed over but did not close as he continued to fight to remain cognizant of what occurred about him.

"Tilion, I would like you to remain as well and assist me," Estel said.

"I would be honored, Captain," Tilion replied, beaming.

Estel's lips curved grimly. He knew that the young ranger's feelings of honor at being included would soon be replaced by those of revulsion for what he was about to do to their new friend. He gently rolled the hobbit onto his stomach.

"No ...I...I cannndohitmyselllff," Frodo complained.

"Allow us to tend you, Master Hobbit," Estel said smiling. Frodo, not realizing that he had already been moved, tried to force himself to make the simple gesture but soon found he was unable to make his limbs obey him.

Estel slowly peeled back the blanket revealing the purple and black bruising and the impressions of large handprints on the hobbit's backside. Tilion gasped at what he had glimpsed before the slender body was re-covered, leaving only the overlarge feet showing. He struggled to compose himself, receiving a sharp glare from his Captain. He knelt down at the head of the bed and tenderly smoothed back the curls from the forehead of the now near unconscious hobbit. Tulkas positioned himself over the hobbit's lower body, bracing himself for, what he expected to be, a struggle.

Estel washed the left ankle with the warm athelas, closely scrutinizing the damage. While both tendons were red and inflamed, it was no more than what would have been expected from such an injury. He now knew from whence the infection stemmed. He grimaced at thoughts of how best to flush out the poisons from Frodo's rectal area.

He bent to his task seeing that the tendon had receded into the calf even with the warm bath. He took a steadying breath and, placing the sterilized blade above the area, cut into the leg. Frodo's eyes flew open and a high-pitched scream was torn from his throat. He bucked weakly but was unable to free himself from what, he perceived to be, an attacker who had found a new method of inflicting pain. As Tulkas held Frodo steady, Estel glanced up at the young ranger who had averted his gaze, his pale face gleaming with sweat.

"If you are unwell or unable to remain, Tilion, no one will think less of you. We can get Kaden to help in your stead," the healer offered sympathetically, as he grasped the end of the tendon and stretched it down, holding it in place with small silver pinchers while making precise stitches with the other.

"I am all right as long as I do not watch, Captain. Please forgive me for being a bit squeamish," came the quiet reply. He held the hobbit's hand gently as Frodo gripped his ferociously in return. The hobbit's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Frodo again tried to jerk away, the tendons pulling against Estel's needle.

'Tulkas, give him a bit more of the opium, please," he said in a low voice.

"Are you certain, Estel? He is so small... much smaller than your usual patients. It could be too much," the burly man whispered.

"I know, but I need him to be totally relaxed or I will be unable to complete the surgery and I do not think we will have another opportunity. I will not have him suffer anymore than he already has. We will watch him closely to insure that he has no ill effects from the drug."

Tulkas dipped his little finger into the jar and slipped the mixture under the hobbit's tongue. Estel resumed the stitching once he was certain Frodo was subdued. At last he was done with the left side and sat back onto his haunches to inspect his work, making sure the stitches would hold. Again he washed the blood from the area and then sprinkled finely powdered goldenrod over the incision. Frodo lay perfectly still throughout the rest of the operation.

"Tilion, please monitor his life beat and breathing for me while I work. If they slow or become erratic, notify me at once," the healer said calmly. Tilion marveled at how the Captain could remain so, apparently, unaffected and detached while he cut and stitched the small being back together again.

Estel closed the opening and moved to the right foot. He had to make a longer cut in order to find, and then pull, the tendon down and back into place. At last the tendon was reattached, sprinkled with the goldenrod, and the incision closed. Both ankles were then wrapped in heavily padded bandages and the healer slumped back against the wall. Only then did Tilion see the dewy perspiration on the Captain's brow and the trembling of his hands.

Tulkas stood, placing his hand, which covered the whole of Frodo's head, on the soft curls. "Rest now, Ranger friend, for you have had a very hard day," he whispered then left the room. Tilion, with a gentle squeeze to the small hand, placed it on the pillow beside Frodo's face and also rose to depart.

"Thank you, Tilion. You were instrumental in the care of our new friend, and I appreciated your willingness to help," The Chieftain said. Again Tilion felt amazement at the apparent change of attitude in his Captain. He nodded then quietly left the room, giving one last look at the sleeping hobbit as he exited. He crossed the main room to the front door, opened it and walked out about twenty paces. He fell to his knees and retched until there was nothing remaining to bring up. A freshening breeze blew across his sweaty face and he lifted his head and smiled up at the sky.

Estel slowly moved to the head of the bed and placed a gentle kiss on Frodo's burning forehead. "Forgive me...I know I only did what had to be done but..." His eyes filled, a rush of emotion filling him, as he looked down at the broken body on the bed. “What have you done to me in so short a time that I find myself unable to think of anything or anyone else? Is this for good or will this be my downfall, I cannot know. I know only that I feel such protectiveness, such caring for you, someone I have only just encountered." He shook his head, mystified. He leaned over, placing his forehead against Frodo's, the tears falling and washing the hobbit's face in a warm, salty bath. He studied the peaceful face and then gently placed a tender kiss on the hobbit's small mouth. "Sleep well and remember nothing," he whispered. He laid his head on the bedside as he studied the quiet, sleeping face, gradually falling into exhausted slumber.

Tbc....


	5. Predicaments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story. ****This chapter deals with graphic medical elements. Those of you, who have a weak stomach, please be warned!!****
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

Why was it so hot? "Bilbo, could I have some water, please?" he croaked. Gently he was raised to rest against someone's chest, which was decidedly *not* Bilbo’s, but at that moment, he did not care. A cup of cool water was brought to his lips and he drank thirstily, never opening his eyes. Afterwards, he was slowly lowered back down onto the bed. "Thank you", he whispered, before falling back into a fitful doze.

Estel brushed back the sweaty ringlets from the hobbit's flushed face. "You are most welcome, my friend," he murmured. So, it was as he had thought. Bilbo was some relation to this youngling. He watched as the hobbit tossed fitfully on the pillow, one moment overheated and trying to free himself from the comforters, the next becoming chilled and reaching out to pull the blanket over himself. Estel sighed. It would be a long night.

He knew there was more than enough room on the bed but did not know how his body would react if he laid next to this beguiling creature. He opted for the chair instead which was definitely not as comfortable but infinitely safer. He rose from the side of the bed and, gathering a blanket, made himself as comfortable as possible on the wooden chair, tipping it back against the wall and placing his feet on a low stool in front of him. He closed his eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Frodo's dreams were troubled and flitted from one scenario to the next almost before he could register where he was or what he was seeing. He saw Bilbo fixing him scones in the kitchen at Bag End and laughing at something Frodo was saying, then Merry and Pippin running through an orchard with Maggot hot on their heels; Sam potting a plant and discussing the blight on the potatoes. Lastly, he saw himself as Wulf and Gant pursued him. The scene shifted and he was reliving the rape and torture all over again.

He cried out, wrestling with the covers and kicking out with his feet, trying to fight off his attackers. As he kicked, fresh waves of pain shot up his legs and he screamed. Estel awoke with a start, the chair thumping down and almost overturning. He moved quickly to the bedside, trying to calm the thrashing hobbit and narrowly avoiding falling victim to the large feet. It seemed the harder he tried to calm Frodo the harder he fought, locked as he was in the nightmare.

Finally, he grabbed the nearly hysterical hobbit and pulled him into his arms. He began to slowly rock him back and forth as he hummed a lullaby his mother had once sung to him, many years before. As he held the small body, his hand moved in slow circles over the sweat-dampened skin. Frodo began to calm, with only an occasional hiccup of a sob or whimper of pain to be heard. Estel reached for the cup beside the bed and brought the heavily sweetened willow bark tea to the slightly parted lips. Frodo drank thirstily, not even acknowledging the lingering bitterness of the brew. Next, Estel slipped some of the poppy paste under Frodo's tongue in the hopes that it might make the hobbit's dreams less troubled. He did not release him; enjoying the feel of the small body next to his own far more than he should have. When he felt Frodo go boneless, he lay him back down and slipped under the covers next to him. He pulled him close and continued to finger-comb the unruly mop of hair as he spoke in a low whisper into the pointed ear.

The next morning found them in much the same position. And as Frodo groggily opened his eyes he found himself feeling warm and safe and peering at the chest hairs that peeked out of Estel's shirt. He winced. He badly needed to use the privy. He gently touched Estel's face and the ranger's eyes popped open causing Frodo to flinch away. Estel looked down into the beautiful blue eyes and smiled.

"How are you feeling, Frodo?" he asked as he felt the still feverish face.

"I am better, I think," Frodo lied. "Umm ... Estel, why are you, uh, holding me?" he asked quietly.

It was the ranger's turn to flinch. "Oh … well, you were having nightmares and thrashing about. I thought it best to hold you until you calmed so you would not re-injure yourself. I must have fallen asleep," Estel explained, blushing.

Frodo did not know why, but the explanation elicited a pang of disappointment. This man was only seeing to his needs as a patient and felt nothing more. Again, he was surprised and embarrassed by his reaction to this rugged ranger, coming so soon after his attack. He felt a fresh wave of shame, knowing that this man could never want anything more than friendship from him, a soiled hobbit.

"I ... I need to go," Frodo whispered.

"Oh, of course," Estel said. He picked Frodo up as he pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bed, lifting and holding him over the pot as he prepared to help him urinate.

Frodo stopped him. "No ... I ... the other." The hobbit's voice cracked and then broke; his wide blue eyes looking fearfully into Estel's gray ones. "I would like some privacy, please. I can do it myself," Frodo said firmly.

"I am sorry, Frodo, but I cannot allow that," Estel said quietly. At the hobbit's indignant look and before he could offer a rebuttal, Estel hurried on to explain. "Frodo, you have lost a lot of blood and have a high fever brought on by an infection that, I believe, is from your attack. I cannot let you try to pass your first movement, since the rape, alone."

At the mention of the rape Frodo turned his face away, mortified. This man meant to stay with him while he moved his bowels. "I ... truly ... I am all right," he said weakly.

"I will not look, I promise. But I will not leave you alone, in pain, and have you possibly faint on me." Frodo looked like he was going to counter further but Estel ignored him. He gently unwound the blanket and squatted down, straddling the commode. He placed Frodo so that the hobbit faced him, perched inches above the rim of the pot, with his feet dangling over Estel's knees. Frodo's face was a brilliant red as he tried to look anywhere but at the ranger's face. The healer took the discarded blanket and draped it around Frodo's back, hiding his nudity, and allowing Frodo some small measure of dignity.  
Then he slowly pulled Frodo towards him so that the hobbit could lean against his chest as he voided.

"Now Frodo, this first movement could be quite painful, but I want you to try and relax as much as you can and allow it to happen. Do not push under any circumstances. We have been giving you a herb that should make your stools more liquid and you should not have to do anything accept let it flow from you. Do you understand?" Estel asked softly.

 

Frodo nodded against the large chest. "This is so embarrassing. I don't know when I've felt so ... OH!" He cried out, a sharp pain lancing through him, as his colon spasmed violently.

"Shh ... it is all right, dear one, I am here for you," Estel crooned softly. He began to massage the narrow back, feeling Frodo's muscles tense beneath his fingertips. Another spasm ripped through the small body and Frodo screamed, his hands clenching and unclenching at Estel's tunic. His breath was coming hot and fast as he placed his heavily perspiring forehead against the ranger's chest. A flood of fecal matter poured from his bottom.

"Help me" he screamed.

"I would do anything to alleviate your suffering, Frodo, if I could. Look at me." Frodo did not move; his eyes tightly squeezed shut as he braced himself for the next onslaught. "*Look* at me, Frodo!" Estel commanded giving the hobbit a small shake.

Frodo pulled his face away from the man's chest but his head hung down as a feeling of vertigo and exhaustion swam over him. Estel lifted the pale face up and peered into the tear-filled eyes. 'I could get lost in those eyes,' he thought to himself. He placed a light kiss on Frodo's forehead and then the hobbit tipped his head back, unleashing an agonized howl. He placed his forehead against Frodo's, trying to transfer his strength into the trembling body. The scream died on the hobbit's lips and the fists that had clenched so tightly within the folds of Estel's tunic, fell limp as a last gush of fluid erupted into the chamber pot. Streams of pus and blood trailed into the basin and Estel gathered a wet cloth and slowly began to clean away the offal.

 

"I am so sorry, Frodo," he said softly, his voice trembling. "I am so sorry that I could not have spared you this torture." The lament fell on deaf ears. The last movement had proven too much for the hobbit and he had fainted, no longer able to tolerate the agony as it had ripped through his body. Estel examined the excretions and grimaced. Thick yellow pus and bright red blood filled the pot. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what he had to do next while Frodo was still unconscious. He washed Frodo's hindquarters thoroughly and lay him down on the bed. He covered him with the blanket, taking a moment to drink in the sweet face, before he rose to fetch the things he needed.

Tulkas appeared at the doorway, pale and shaken. "Estel?" he asked.

"He is unconscious," was the simple reply. "We need to break the pustules. I will need some powdered arsenic and a bolus of athelas with rubia root. Could you prepare these for me, my friend? Who knows what filth his attackers left within him?”

Tulkas eyed his Chieftain, noticing the shaking hands and the tear stains still fresh on the man's face. "Aye," Tulkas said in resignation. He returned shortly, joining the ranger in the small room. He sighed sadly when he saw the perspiring and pallid features of the hobbit. He too, had developed an emotional attachment to the sweet Shireling. He bent down next to the bed, looping his huge arms under Frodo's thighs and neck, and bending the hobbit so that his hindquarters were presented for Estel. The blanket was arranged so that all that shown was the small bottom.

Estel pushed his finger slowly into the tight rectum, causing Frodo to weakly struggle and cry out. As he felt within the abused canal he discovered two large blistering sores. He took a deep breath as he looked across the broken body at Tulkas. The man gave a short nod, indicating that he was ready. Estel pushed down hard, breaking the first cyst. The scream from the hobbit was ear shattering. A rampage of rangers appeared at the doorway, their swords drawn. They quickly assumed a fighting stance as they searched the room for intruders. Estel slowly smiled at the quick reflexes of his men and dismissed them with a nod. They left, feeling a bit chagrined and embarrassed.

 

He moved to the next pustule and ruptured it, eliciting another scream of pain from Frodo. He withdrew his hand, which was covered in bright red blood and thick, putrid smelling pus. He washed his hands in the athelas water then rose and dumped it out of the window. He left the room, quickly returning with a fresh basin of the brew. He prepared the bolus as Tulkas gently moved Frodo over his lap. Estel lubricated the reed, punctured the casing and inserted it into Frodo's bottom. He applied slow pressure, forcing the liquid into the hobbit's body. More of the pus and blood flowed into the awaiting basin, leaving the smell of decay in its wake. A trickle of blood began to trail from Frodo's entrance and Estel knew that the hobbit had begun to bleed again. When the water began to run clear he was satisfied that most of the infection had been flushed out.

He knelt, once again, and dipping his large finger into the powdered arsenic and rubia, re-inserted his finger. He felt for the wound and then saturated it with the antibiotic. Frodo whimpered as a burning sensation knifed through his abdomen. Estel repeated the treatment, dipping his bloodied finger into the powder and reinserting it into the canal; until he was satisfied that he had treated all of the sores. Next he moved to the powdered valerian and crushed yarrow leaves he had placed in a bowl by the bed. He packed the small opening with the mixture, hoping it would staunch the bleeding and stem the spasms that were repeatedly causing Frodo to cry out in pain. He tenderly washed the exposed bottom and removed the putrid basin, dumping it outside the window. He washed his hands, which were visibly trembling, then leaned against the bed, spent.

Tulkas removed his hold on Frodo, rolling him gently onto his back and covering him with the blanket. Estel seemed satisfied at last; that he had done all that he could for the hobbit. "Estel, you need to rest," Tulkas said in concern, noting the exhaustion etched on his Captain's face.

"I will not leave him," the ranger said firmly. "He needs me." He looked up at Tulkas, his face desperate. “And I him.”

Tulkas understood the full meaning of the Chieftain's words and, with a nod, rose. "Then I will bring you both some tea and breakfast. Would you like some of Frodo's tea or something more to your liking?" He said with a wink.

Estel smiled. "Regular tea would be welcome, Tulkas. Be sure to include the yellow dock root in Frodo's.” He hoped that soon there would be no need for the laxative. Tulkas gave a grim nod and left the room. Estel moved to the bed. He lay down and curled protectively around the small body. When Tulkas returned, both the patient and the healer were fast asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frodo was dreaming again only this time it was a good dream. On some level he knew that it was not real but willed his body not to awaken. He was standing on the edge of a lush field. On the far side he could see a man with a huge smile on his handsome face. Frodo began to run towards the outstretched arms of the tall, laughing figure, free at last of wounds, both body and soul. He launched himself into the arms of his ranger, nearly sending the man sprawling, and was easily scooped up and spun in a playful circle. The light gray eyes looked into the laughing blue ones as the man lavished kisses over Frodo's upturned face, at last lingering over his love’s lips. Frodo smiled as he lay on the bed and dreamt of the man who then gently captured his mouth in a warm tender kiss.

 

TBC


	6. "Impossible Dreams"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story. ****This chapter deals with graphic medical elements. Those of you, who have a weak stomach, please be warned!!****
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

I have to thank Lily Baggins for using her under the bed escape plan from "A Small Affliction", in this chapter. Thanks Lily!

 

His dreams were filled with strange shadows, cast over him as a vulture over a carcass, and he instinctively pulled back, crying out. He did not recall where he was or if Sam, Bilbo, or someone else was caring for him.

The specters hovered over him, their words garbled, and he found this reality more frightening than any dream he had ever had. He tried to rise, but was too weak. He could only thrash helplessly back and forth on the pillow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"His fever is rising. I had thought that lancing the boils would have helped to curb the infection, but it seems, it is most tenacious," Estel said, defeated.

"He's a strong one, Estel. Don't you worry none. We'll keep at him with the tea and soups and, afore you know it, he'll be smiling and giggling." Tulkas tried to force his voice to carry more conviction than he felt. He had seen many a strong warrior die of lesser ailments.

Estel sponged the Hobbit's face with another cool cloth, watching as Frodo twisted fitfully beneath him. Frodo's eyes would open wide and he would cry out in fear as he looked, blankly, up at him and Tulkas. He had tried on numerous occasions to move away from them, and Estel wondered what the Hobbit was seeing.

Frodo's eyes shot open and he moaned as he tried once again to move away from Estel. This time, the Hobbit was more terrified than before and adrenaline pulsed through his body, setting it in motion.

"No, Frodo, we are your friends and are here to help you," he whispered gently. Frodo's eyes filled with tears as he willed his battered body to do his bidding. He moved to the other side of the bed as the Ranger watched, not sure if it would be best to try and pull him close, or just let him wear himself down. The bed was placed close to the wall to leave as much free space in the room as possible, but there was an opening that a Hobbit would have had no trouble crawling through.

Just as Estel realized this, Frodo reached behind himself, trying to decide how best to flee his attackers. His hand met only air, and the Hobbit wavered and fell in a heap to the floor.

Tulkas and Estel were immediately on their feet, trying to get around the bed and into the narrow opening in an attempt to retrieve Frodo from behind the bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

He had escaped and it had been relatively easy! Frodo could not believe his luck. Throughout his retreat these shadows had whispered as they hovered ever closer to him, but it was as if he were underwater, unable to see or hear them clearly, only certain they meant him harm. When he hit the floor, he cried out as pain lanced through his body.

He recovered his senses enough to crawl slowly beneath the bed. He could hear the beings as they called out to him and felt the bed begin to move away from the wall. He grasped hold of the far side and, as the bed moved, he was moved along with it. His arms trembled as he tried to hold on, feeling certain that his attempt to escape had kindled his captors' ire.

Long arms reached for him and he screamed, trying to move out of their reach. His strength failed him at last, as the bed was removed. He scuttled to the corner of the room, drawing his legs up to his chest, sobbing bitterly. He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his arms over his head, and began to retch, the vomit pooling between his legs. He waited for the kicks and blows he was sure would come, but none did. Instead, he was gathered tenderly into large arms and carried gently back to the bed. Someone was washing him slowly as they spoke a soothing litany that gradually brought a sense of calm to his delirium.

"Tulkas, we will need a tepid bath. Could you see to it?" The Ranger murmured. "And see if you can find Tilion for me. I think he has something that we will need," he added.

Tulkas turned, and from the doorframe six anxious faces peered at them. The sight was so humorous that he couldn't help but smile.

"Gentlemen?" he asked.

Estel turned when he heard Tulkas speak, and smiled as well. "Well, since you are all here and obviously concerned about our guest, you can give us a hand. Oden, would you see to warming these blankets while  
Daekon changes the bedding. I will also need some wooden rails secured to the bedposts along the side of the bed. Halbarad, please warm some more of the medicinal tea and some hearty broth while Tulkas sees to the bath." He smiled up at them and they moved with new purpose about the room, setting things to rights.

"And what can I do, Captain?" came a small voice.

Estel smiled up at Tilion. "I wondered if you had any of your old clothing around from when you were a young one. Perhaps we could find something small enough for Frodo to wear, at least to sleep in."

"Oh, aye, I saved everything," he exclaimed and rushed from the room. Soon he returned with a small box. He pulled out a cotton nightshirt that had been lovingly embroidered by his mother, and laid it on the clean bed. "It might be a little big, but I suppose it'll have to do. If it's all right with you, Captain, I think I'd like to shorten these breeches and try to make this shirt a bit smaller for Frodo." He smiled, thinking of his new friend actually having use of the castoffs.

“That would be wonderful, if you can manage it. I think Frodo would greatly appreciate not having to run around in the raw all of the time, especially amongst a bunch of Rangers," Estel laughed to see how excited Tilion was to take part in the Hobbit’s care.

Tulkas returned with the tub and filled it with hot water, to which he then added liberal amounts of cold. Once he finished, the water was merely warm.

Estel scooped the sweaty Hobbit up and slowly knelt, placing him gently into the bath. Frodo arched his back in surprise, but then settled back with a sigh as the cool bath covered him up to the neck. Estel retrieved a flannel and, soaping it, he tenderly washed Frodo’s grimy face, neck, and chest. While Tilion supported each of the slim legs, he lathered and rinsed the feet, ankles and calves. He looked closely at the tendons he had repaired, satisfied that they were healing without infection and very little swelling. He moved to the Hobbit's head and, placing an arm under Frodo's shoulders, dipped the curly hair back as he poured water over it. He lathered and rinsed the chestnut curls until the water ran clear.

He removed Frodo from the bath and placed him on the bed, protectively wrapping him in a large towel. Once the Hobbit was dried, he picked up the nightshirt, smiling, as he looked over the fine needlework his long- dead friend's wife had lovingly stitched on it for their small son. When he looked back at Tilion, he had tears in his eyes, a sudden flash of memory causing him to relive his grief one more time. He lowered the shirt over Frodo's head and pulled the thin arms through the openings. It was much too large for the Hobbit, but it looked comfortable, and it was clean.

He slipped Frodo under the covers and sat down beside the bed. "Tilion, fetch me some gauze strips from the herb room, please." His mouth was set in a grim line and even though he felt brutish for what he was about to do, he knew it was necessary for the safety of his new friend. Tilion soon returned with a wad of cloth stripping, rolled into a ball.

"What are these for, Captain?" The young Ranger asked, curious.

Estel looked up at Tulkas and they shared a glance, each wondering how Tilion would react to what they were about to do. "Frodo is delirious, Tilion. When he awoke earlier, he did not know who we were or where he was. He fell off the bed and then hid underneath it." Tilion could not help but grin at the mental picture of the pair of Rangers trying to match wits with a Hobbit from the Shire. The smile quickly left his lips when he saw the expression on Estel's face.

"It is unsafe for Frodo to be free to move about until he is able to recognize friend from foe."

Tilion's eyes flew open. "You can't mean to chain him like a common dog? Captain, he will only fight all the more, don't you see? It's cruel," he said, his jaw set firmly. He stood very still, waiting for the angry reply from his Captain. When none came, he chanced a glimpse at the Chieftain. Much to his surprise, there was only compassion and  
understanding on the older Ranger's face.

"Yes, it is cruel. And I feel brutish doing this to him, but if I don't, and he seriously hurts himself or wanders off, I will feel far worse." He took the gauze strips and, after making a soft bandage that surrounded each wrist so that they would not chafe, he tied a long strip to each small arm, securing it to the newly installed bed frames.

Frodo twisted restlessly back and forth, calling out to his friend Sam as he begged to be set free.

Estel situated the Hobbit so that he could be fed, and with Tulkas’ help, they managed to get a good portion of the broth and tea down him, using the Hobbit's thirst to their advantage. Afterwards, they gave him long sips of cool water until at last it only ran from the parted lips.

Tilion, unable to see his friend bound, left the room.

After Frodo had eaten, Tulkas collected the dishes and began to follow him out. He stopped in the doorway. "Estel, please rest. I will watch him." He looked worriedly at his friend.

"I am fine, Tulkas, I will rest later," was the reply. Tulkas shook his head sadly, muttering something about 'hardheaded Numenorians' then he was gone. Estel loosened the bindings and removed the nightshirt from his friend. He retrieved a vial of healing oil that his father had sent with him. He had seen it work miracles in reducing a patient's fever and had requested a bottle for himself. It was distilled much as strong drink was, using a corn mash then refined into a crystal clear liquid. Afterwards, it was mixed with eucalyptus oil, which helped to mask the pungent smell.

He turned Frodo so that he lay on his stomach and poured some of the liquid into the palm of one hand. He rubbed his hands together and then gently began to massage the oil into Frodo's skin. The Hobbit sighed in contentment and began to relax under his hands.

He worked the oil over Frodo's back and, when finished, massaged the arms and legs as well. Then he rolled the Hobbit onto his back and began to repeat the procedure to Frodo's chest, arms and legs. He judiciously avoided any contact with the groin area, knowing that it would not help Frodo if he became unhinged.

Finally sighing, he reattached the bindings and curled up on his side next to the ailing Hobbit, falling into an uneasy doze.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frodo was only dimly aware of his surroundings and those who cared for him. He was fed, given a bitter tea periodically, bathed and clothed. His tender ankles were lovingly and tenderly massaged with oil that smelled of eucalyptus. Someone had massaged the same oil onto the rest of his body, leaving a tingling, cooling sensation in its wake.

Occasionally, he would hear someone whisper soothingly in his ear or imagine the faint touch of lips on his own. Sometimes the hot splash of a tear would land on his cheek yet he was unable to respond to these touches or to reassure the obviously distressed caregiver that he could hear him or even knew that he was present.

He would be lifted from the bed, at intervals, to urinate and on one agonizing occasion, to move his bowels. He remembered that. It had been excruciating. But always there was 'the presence', the one who loved him, for he could feel the love emanating from this special person, attempting to reassure and comfort him.

He was oblivious of the passage of time, even though many days had passed in this manner as the fever raged within his torn body, waging battle with the infection that had been so insidiously planted there.

Estel had not truly rested during this whole time, uneasy about leaving Frodo in the care of anyone except himself, and frightened that this cherished being would somehow cease to be if he left the room for very long. He knelt at the head of the bed, caressing the mop of sweaty curls, and began to weep. He removed the bindings on Frodo's wrists, placing the smooth hands in his and kissing them both as one.

"Frodo, come back to me, please. I miss you," he cried softly,laying a gentle kiss on the Hobbit's chapped lips.

Frodo slowly opened his eyes and peered up at the distraught Ranger. "Estel? Is there something wrong?" he asked huskily. He eyed the careworn face of the healer with concern. He lifted a wavering hand and gently touched the rough face. It was damp with tears and his eyes filled in like mind. "Why do you cry?"

Estel grinned widely and started to chuckle. "You scared me, Frodo. I thought perhaps you had left us for some far green country, and I despaired," he answered huskily. He cleared his voice and tried to adapt a more clinical mien. "Well then ... it would seem your fever has finally broken."

He rose on stiff legs and gazed down at the Hobbit. "We have been giving you your medicines and broths, even exercising your calves so that your tendons would continue to heal." He smiled, "But we have dearly missed your chatter and companionship these last few days," he added warmly.

The Hobbit smiled wanly. "Days? How...how many days?" Frodo asked, his face suddenly worried.

"It has been ten days since you came to us, Frodo. The infection that was left within you, was a virulent one and we thought we had lost you on more than one occasion, but it seems, you are made of sterner stuff than suggested by your physique," Estel teased lightly at the last.

"Ten...days?" Frodo exclaimed. He tried to sit up but was still too weak to do so. He slumped back down, panting harshly.

"Easy Frodo. You have a long way yet to a full recovery and will still need much in the way of rest and nourishment before you will be able to rise without feeling dizzy or weak."

Estel gently pushed the hobbit back onto the pillows and could not help but take the smaller hand in his and run his thumb along the back of it in a caress.

"But...poor Sam! He will be frantic! We must get a message to him as soon as possible," Frodo cried in alarm.

"If you calm yourself, my friend, I will fetch the paper and a quill, and we can do it now...unless, of course, you are too tired," the Ranger said, his heart lighter than it had been in a week.

"I'm fine...but, oh.... you're teasing me, aren't you?" He was still tired and Estel could see that he was very weak, but the blue eyes held a small spark of merriment as well.

Estel's hand moved of its own accord, running softly down the side of the Hobbit's pale face. Frodo closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. "I had the strangest dreams," he said dreamily.

"Tell me of them, Frodo."

"I dreamt that someone was caring for me with such gentleness and love. I was fed and bathed, my wounds treated, and I felt so completely safe. It was a wondrous feeling," he said quietly.

"It was Tulkas and I that did those things, not a dream, Frodo," Estel said huskily.

Frodo looked up at him with large eyes and then brought his hand to his mouth, touching his lips. "I see...uh...Estel, was there anything else that happened while I was, err.... sick?"

Estel blushed furiously and withdrew his hand as if from a flame. "I do not know what you mean, Frodo. What is it that you think happened?" he asked, his voice cracking as he nervously straightened the covers.

Frodo's face fell as he watched the Ranger's reactions. "I thought that.... I was so certain...nothing, just the fever. Only an illusion, I suppose." Estel looked into the blue eyes and caught a look of hope, which quickly changed to one of anguish as Frodo turned away.

"Frodo, what is wrong?" he asked in concern.

"Nothing, Estel, I am just a bit tired still. Perhaps later we could write to Sam, if that is all right?" Came the muffled reply.

Estel looked at the Hobbit in confusion. Only a few moments before it had been an urgent matter to pen a letter to his friend, and now...

"Perhaps you should rest a bit more. I will turn the lanterns down low and bring you some more food and water," he said uncertainly.

"Yes...thank you. Thank you for everything you have done for me, truly." Frodo's voice trembled with emotion.

"Do you wish me to stay with you, Frodo?" Estel asked worriedly.

"Thank you, but that is not necessary, I assure you," Frodo said quietly. The Ranger rose slowly, feeling that he had overlooked some important bit of information, but uncertain as to what it could be. He turned, pausing in the doorway to give one last look back at the obviously distraught Hobbit.

After he was certain that he was alone, Frodo allowed the tears to flow.

Why, oh why did he feel this way about this Man? Wasn't it obvious that the feelings he felt were not returned? He sobbed bitterly into his pillow as Estel listened worriedly at the door.

TBC


	7. Letters and Leavings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
>  
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

When Estel returned some time later, Frodo was lying on his side facing the wall. The hobbit was feigning sleep, but Estel could see that his face was damp from crying. The small body was shaking as he tried to suppress his sobs.

“Frodo? I have brought the parchment and quill, would you like to write your letter to your companion now?” he asked softly.

Frodo surreptitiously wiped at his face, hoping that the ranger would not see his reddened and damp face. ‘Will no one ever love me again? Am I to spend my days alone and shunned by all who meet me?’ he lamented to himself. He rolled carefully onto his back and studied the man at his side. Estel looked at him, his eyes filled with concern.

“Yes, yes he needs to know that I am well and in good hands; that I am with friends who care for me. You are my friend, aren’t you, Estel?” he whispered.

“Yes, Frodo, I am your friend. I would like to think that we are very close friends, if I am not being too forward. I care for you as any healer would,” he said huskily.

‘As any healer would…’ The words hung in the air between them, stinging Frodo’s heart even though they were not meant to.

So it was true. Estel felt nothing for him except the clinical scrutiny a healer feels for his patient. A wave of despair washed over him and he wondered again why it was so important that this man share the attraction he felt. He could not explain his feelings. It was as if there was a bond, a link that connected him somehow to the ranger. He could not help but feel that this man was so different from any other that they were soul mates or destined to connect on some level. After his initial encounter with men and the brutal taking of his body, how could he be attracted to this handsome stranger, he wondered? He set his jaw in a determined line and turned towards the ranger, deciding that, hence forth, he would harden his heart towards him, allowing only the feelings of friendship that the man seemed stubbornly determined to cling to. He would push the tantalizing thoughts of this man covering his face with warm caresses, lying beside him and curled protectively about his body, far from him. Even as that thought entered his mind, he realized this would, quite possibly, be the hardest thing he had ever done.

Estel pulled a chair closer to the bed and placing the parchment on a large book, dipped the quill in the ink, poised to write down whatever Frodo said.

“No, I will write it. He will not believe I am well unless he sees that the letter is written by my hand,” Frodo murmured as he attempted to push himself into a sitting position.

“Frodo, you are very weak. Perhaps you could simply sign it when we are done. Would that convince your friend that you are well?” Estel asked as he set the paper and quill aside and moved to the bed.

“No. He will not believe it is from me. I will write as much as I am able, then you may take over, if that is alright,” Frodo whispered weakly. It was obvious that the act of trying to sit up had already sapped his limited strength, but Estel nodded. He placed two large pillows behind the hobbit and lifted Frodo into position.

Frodo’s head swam from the movement, the vertigo overwhelming him as he saw Estel slip in and out of his vision. His eyes rolled up into his head and he began to arch his back, as his body prepared to heave up what little was in his stomach. He turned deathly pale as he fought for control over the nausea. ‘I will not be sick in front of this man’, he said to himself, drawing on all of his remaining energies as he attempted to quell the nausea. His body convulsed and he covered his mouth, closing his eyes and determinedly set his jaw.

Estel softly rubbed circles over Frodo’s back. Frodo would normally have found this soothing, but today it seemed only to exacerbate his condition. “It is alright, Frodo. I am sorry. I moved you too quickly it seems, and have unsettled your stomach. There is no shame in being ill,” the ranger said soothingly.

“No. No…” Frodo groaned, then turned towards the edge of the bed just as Estel pulled the chamber pot from underneath and violently vomited into the vessel. After what seemed like an eternity, his body convulsing into dry heaves, he slumped back against the pillow, his face pale and shining with perspiration.

Estel gently wiped Frodo’s mouth and offered him the peppermint tea that sat beside the bed. He instructed Frodo to rinse, spit, then drink, which the hobbit did. Frodo was panting, his eyes closed as he tried to regain control.

“Better?” Estel asked quietly.

“Yes, I am sorry to be such a bother. You have been most kind and attentive in your care,” he slurred.

“It is my pleasure to see you to good health, Frodo, and you are most certainly, not a bother.” Frodo opened his eyes and looked into the smoky gray eyes mere inches from his own.

They stared thus for some time, each drinking in the other. Frodo moved slightly towards the man, his eyes silently asking for permission.

Estel gazed into the clear blue eyes, his eyes roving to the small pert nose and the quivering warm mouth. How he longed to capture those lips within his own, to lavish kisses over that perfect face. He licked his lips, a barely perceptible moan escaping his lips. He slowly moved closer even as Frodo’s eyes began to slip close. He lightly brushed his lips against Frodo’s, his own eyes closing. Frodo groaned in anticipation as Estel’s lips touched his lightly once again. Frodo leaned forward, no longer able to resist the urge to merge with the man, and gently placed a warm, moist caress on his lips. Estel growled as he lunged forward, hungrily encompassing Frodo’s mouth with his own, sucking on the soft, fleshy warmth and running his tongue slowly along the bottom lip. He wrapped his arms about the hobbit, pulling him closer as he hungrily devoured the open and inviting mouth. His groin quivered uncontrollably as he imagined himself lying on top of this precious creature, planting himself deep within the warm body.

He pulled away suddenly - ashamed of his thoughts and actions, causing Frodo to fall backwards, confused. ‘This poor battered soul has already been the victim of brutal intrusion. I have no right to subject Frodo to more of the same, even if it is invited,’ he thought, berating himself. Frodo gazed uncertainly into the ranger’s eyes as Estel turned away.

“My apologies, Master Hobbit, I do not know what came over me. It will not happen again, I assure you,” Estel said, as he turned from Frodo, unaware of the look of surprised hurt in the blue eyes.

“I…I found it rather enjoyable, I am sorry that you did not,” Frodo said, his voice filled with hurt.

Estel turned back to him, searching for the words that would reassure the hobbit that he too, had found joy and wonder in the caress. But Frodo had turned away, clearing his voice and trying, desperately, to assume a detached mien.

“I…I did not mean…” Estel began.

“The daylight will be fading soon, I expect. We should complete Sam’s letter so that it might be delivered to him in all due haste,” Frodo whispered, his eyes glittering with tears.

“Frodo…” Estel tried again, but the hobbit had already bent over the parchment, dipped the quill and shakily begun to write, effectively terminating any remaining conversation on the subject.

“I…I think you could use some fresh tea, and a meal. I’ll just go see what Tulkas has prepared for you,” Estel said quietly, gazing yearningly at the small being and frustrated at his own impotence.

Frodo ignored him, as he leaned over the parchment, a look of deep concentration on his face. Estel rose and, after another furtive glance back at the hobbit, left the room. Frodo sagged back against the pillows as tears slowly slid down his cheeks. He wiped at his face gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt, and bent once more over the paper. The scrawl that covered the page hardly resembled his usually perfect script, but he thought Sam would still be able to recognize it as his writing. His eyes began to slip closed as he finished and the last of his strength drained from him.

Estel entered the room, and seeing Frodo’s fatigue, set the tea on the table, removed the pillows and slowly lowered the hobbit into a reclining position.

“No…no…I don’t need… your help…”Frodo slurred. “Perfecly ca’able of helpin’ m’self…”

Estel could not help but smile at the groggy hobbit. “Nevertheless, I will continue the letter. You will dictate what you want to say and I will write it, Master Hobbit.”

Frodo cringed at the formal address, especially considering what had taken place only moments before. His mind shifted back to the loving exchange. Had he imagined the whole thing? Perhaps it had only been a dream, he thought foggily. “…only a dream…” he whispered.

Estel grimaced. “But it was a good dream…” he murmured and saw Frodo smile languidly. “May I read what you have written so far?” he asked softly.

“Yes, of course. Tell me when you have finished and I will continue,” Frodo said slowly.

My Dearest Sam-

I am so sorry this has taken so very long to get to you. I went out expecting to hike about for only a few hours and then unforeseen circumstances kept me from my return. I had a small accident, but be assured, I was rescued and have been, subsequently, cared for by some new friends. They are rangers of the north, and although we have always held them at arm’s length, fearing them, they have shown themselves to be gentle, kind and generous of heart to this hobbit. I am still recovering from my accident, but anticipate seeing you again very soon, my dearest friend.

Your friend and Master,  
Frodo Baggins

“What would you like to add, Frodo?” Estel asked, as he reread the paragraph. He wondered at Frodo’s use of the word ‘dearest’ and how exactly it was meant to the gardener. He felt a pang of jealousy and reprimanded himself for his own audacity.

“Tell him…ummm, tell him that I am recovering quickly and that if he wants to send a return post…” Frodo’s eyes lit up at the thought. “*Could* someone pick up a return post do you think, Estel? I know it is asking a lot, but I think Sam would like that very much,” Frodo asked, his eyes brightening.

Estel smiled, “I don’t see why not. Patrols need to be made near Bree. After the letter is left to go to Hobbiton, the ranger could come back by in two weeks time and retrieve any answering correspondence, how would that be?”

Frodo’s eyes lit up, “That would be wonderful,” he laughed. “Tell him that if he wishes to send a letter back, that there will be someone there to bring it to me in two weeks time then. Tell him that I miss him desperately and look forward to seeing and hearing all that he has been up to in my absence.” Frodo smiled.

“I would like to also write him, if it is alright with you, Frodo?”

Frodo gave him a confused glance. “But, what would you say, you don’t know him?” he asked slowly.

“I want to try and reassure him that you are not being coerced in writing your letter by less than savory characters that might have abducted you,” he said grimly. Frodo’s face paled, remembering how he had been in exactly that situation only a few days before.

“Of course,” he said introspectively.

“I would gladly allow you to read it afterwards, if you wish?” Estel asked, eyeing Frodo with concern.

“No. No it is no matter…” Frodo murmured. He slowly closed his eyes. “I … I am so very tired, Estel. I am listening still, I just need to rest my eyes a bit.” Estel gently caressed the soft curls that were in a constant riot about the cherubic face, wondering at their softness, as he listened to Frodo’s breathing becoming deeper and more relaxed.

He picked up the quill and another sheet of parchment; hesitating only a moment before putting the quill to the paper.

Dear Master Gamgee-

Frodo has told me much about you and the Shire, and I am indebted to him for this newfound knowledge. I write to assure you that he will come to no harm while in my company. On the contrary, my men have become most protective of him and he has quickly taken hold on our hearts. I anticipate his return to you in a matter of weeks. His injuries are healing rapidly and his bright spirit will be missed from our stronghold. He shares with us his tales of the carefree lifestyle and beauty of his homeland and has reinforced our belief that the Shire is truly worth guarding. Please worry not for his safety, as I would gladly give my own life to see him sheltered.

Chieftain of the Northern Rangers

Strider

Satisfied, Estel folded the notes, pressed hot wax to the edges and sealing them with a stamp. He shifted his gaze back to the bed and its small inhabitant and sighed as he left the room. He knew now what he had to do; yet he was loath to do it. He retreated to the hallway, closing the door behind him. The men all looked up expectantly at their leader and he nodded to them that all was well.

The scent of roasting deer meat greeted him as he walked into the great room. He smiled wanly at the hulking man, bent over a large pot. Tulkas looked up as he approached. “How is our small guest, Estel?”

“He is resting. I believe it is time for me to move on to the Eastern portion of the Shire and take my turn at patrol,” Estel said slowly.

“Frodo needs you, Captain. Do you not think that your duty lies with him at this time?” The huge man scolded softly.

“He is well enough to be cared for by another.” He looked over at the man. “I need to leave, Tulkas. My duty takes precedence, and I have tarried too long already.” He straightened his shoulders and set his jaw. “I have no doubt that you can care for him just as easily as I.” He looked at the man hoping to find some glimmer of understanding. “I need to distance myself from him and consider all of the thoughts and impulses that seem to overwhelm me whenever I am around him. It is not seemly for me to feel as I do especially after his encounter with those foul creatures disguised as men.”

“He needs you, Estel. A blind man can see how he feels towards you, and your leaving will not solve anything. You are running away, pure and simple. Bugger duty. You know that there are plenty of men that can patrol the East Farthing allowing you to stay with Frodo and see him back to good health,” the ranger grumbled. “Your leaving is only gonna hurt the lad. He’s gonna think that he’s done sumpin’ wrong and feel rejected, you know it. Stay, Estel. It ain’t wrong to love ‘em when he needs it the most,” he finished.

“I cannot, Tulkas. I see no future for Frodo and myself, only pain. He distracts me from my primary duties and that cannot be allowed if the Shire is to be protected. I shall leave in the morning. I will take the letter he has written to Bree. I do not anticipate returning for some weeks. When I return I expect our guest to be fully recovered and ready for his return journey to Hobbiton. Once that is done, he will be safely ensconced with his family and friends, and that will be the end of it,” Estel said, gritting his teeth and turning from the other Ranger.

Tulkas recognized an order when he heard it. “Aye, Captain, as you wish,” he grumbled. He knew it was hopeless to argue with his leader when the man had made up his mind about something. He returned his attentions to the meal and began to dish up plates with the deer steak, covered in liberal amounts of thick gravy, mashed potatoes and bread.

“It smells delicious, Tulkas,” Estel said, his mouth watering as he tried to dispel the man’s obvious ire.

Tulkas only grunted, his back turned to the man. Estel could see that his chief cook was upset about him leaving. He waited until he had a plate for Frodo then turned and headed back to the hobbit. He opened the door slowly and saw that Frodo was awake, staring up at the ceiling. “You must be hungry. Tulkas has prepared a fine meal tonight - deer steak with gravy and … Frodo? Are you alright?” he asked in concern. At the mention of deer steak Frodo had blanched, covering his mouth. Estel crossed quickly to the hobbit and withdrew the chamber pot from beneath the bed. Frodo lurched towards it, spewing tea and bile into the receptacle.

“Aucch,” he groaned. “Take it out…the smell…can’t …tell Tulkas I am sorry, but I can’t eat that,” he groaned. Confused, Estel rose and exited with the plate. Tulkas turned questioningly towards him as Estel sat the plate on the sideboard and raced back to the room.

The hobbit lay half on the bed, half off, his head perched on the edge of the chamber pot. Tulkas appeared in the doorway, a worried frown on his face. “What has happened? Frodo, don’t hobbits eat deer meat?” he asked in concern.

At the mention of the words ‘deer meat’ Frodo leaned over the pot and heaved again. When he was finished, Estel raised him onto the pillow and wiped his mouth. He gave him another sip of the peppermint tea and sat back, studying the pale, thin face. Frodo slowly opened his eyes and seeing the ranger staring at him, blushed and turned away. “Frodo, does your stomach hurt?” the healer asked.

“No…I do not know why I was sick. The thought of the meat and…and the gravy was suddenly repulsive.” He turned back to the ranger. “What is wrong with me? I feel so odd…I weep over the smallest of things. I feel drained and achy and now even the smell of food is sickening.” He looked imploringly up at Estel.

“You have been through much, Frodo. It is probably no more than a reaction to your attack and all of the healing teas I’ve been giving to you. I will brew something to calm your nausea. I’m sure that you will feel better in the morning,” the healer said, his brow knit in worry. “You do need to eat something. Is there anything that sounds appealing to you?”

Frodo was about to say that he wasn’t hungry when his stomach growled loudly. The two men smiled widely. He looked up at them, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense. I got a near full fruit cellar and plenty o’ jars o’ preserved foods, you jes’ let me know what you’ll be wantin’ and it’s yours, little Master,” Tulkas said.

“Well…do you have any mushrooms?” Frodo asked.

Tulkas face fell. “Men don’t have the taste for mushrooms like the little people, I’m afraid. But I have lots of pickled vegetables in the cellar, and I made some potatoes and bread to be goin’ with dinner, if that sounds tasty to ya,” Tulkas said, trying to tempt the hobbit’s taste buds.

Frodo’s eyes lit up. “Pickled beans, or cauliflower perhaps?”

“Aye, I got that. What else will ya be havin’?”

“The bread and potatoes sound very good, Tulkas, along with the vegetables.” Frodo sank back against the pillows as the delighted ranger left the room.

“I am concerned about this nausea. I am hoping it is only a reaction to my teas, and nothing more,” Estel said. His face was grim as he wrung out a cloth and wiped Frodo’s face.

Frodo took the cloth from the man and placed it on the bed. “Do not concern yourself on my part. I am fine, I assure you,” he said quietly.

Estel drew back at the rebuke and was about to say something when Tulkas re-entered the room. “Here you are, Master Hobbit, a meal fit for a king.” He sat the plate by the bed and slowly lifted Frodo into a sitting position. He placed the meal in front of the hobbit and Frodo’s eyes lit up, his mouth watering. Whole jars of pickled cauliflower, green beans and carrots sat before him. Also he saw that Tulkas had sliced up an apple from the cold room and added it to the plate of potatoes. A buttered roll sat on the side of the plate. He slumped back against the pillows wondering how he was going to feed himself when he couldn’t even sit up for any length of time.

“Thank you Tulkas, I will take care of Frodo,” Estel said as he studied the hobbit. He opened the jar of pickled beans and spooned out a portion onto the plate. He wrinkled his nose. He had never like pickled vegetables, and he and the men had only eaten them out of courtesy to Tulkas, who insisted that, pickled or not, they were still greens and that everyone needed them to keep their bodies in proper working order.

Frodo hungrily eyed the beans and Estel, following his gaze, smiled, speared some onto a fork, and brought them to the hobbits mouth. Frodo’s eyes closed in appreciation as he slowly chewed and swallowed. The ranger swallowed thickly as he watched Frodo’s face fill with ecstasy.

Tulkas massive form filled the doorway. “Frodo, I’ve found a bit of applesauce from last spring in the cellar. Would that be somethin’ that would settle well on yer stomach, little Master?”

Frodo’s face lit up. “Oh, I love applesauce and it sounds wonderful, Tulkas.” Tulkas started to turn to leave when Frodo stopped him. “Uh, Tulkas? Might I have an empty cup when you come back?”

Tulkas smiled, “Of course, Frodo. I’ll be back in a shake with your applesauce.” He returned a few moments later with a dish filled with the confection, a curl of honey gracing the top. He placed the cup in Frodo’s hand. “What would you like in the cup, Frodo?”

Frodo smiled nervously and blushed. “I’d like some of the brine, if you don’t mind, from these wonderful pickled beans, please.”

The two rangers started at the request, giving each other a disgusted look. “The brine, Frodo? Surely you jest,” Estel said slowly. His face had a sour look on it.

“I know it doesn’t sound especially appealing, but for some reason I am craving it madly.” He held the cup out, his arm trembling. “Estel?”

Estel gulped, “If that’s what you want, Frodo,” he said slowly. He filled the cup half full of the dull green brine, recapped the bottle and watched, horrified as Frodo gulped down the liquid.

“More please.”

Estel refilled the cup, nausea nearly overcoming him. But if he had been sickened before by the hobbit’s request, it was nothing compared to what happened next. Frodo first tasted the applesauce, giving a delighted smile to the now green-faced Tulkas, then poured some of the briny liquid onto the fruit. He ate eagerly and when the applesauce was gone, poured the remaining liquid onto the potatoes. Estel looked up at Tulkas, whose face had gone ashy. Frodo took up the fork and began to spoon the potatoes into his mouth followed by bites of the green beans. After this was gone he took the apple slices, dipped them in the remaining potatoes and ate them hungrily. Finally he fell back against the pillow. “That was delicious, Tulkas, truly. Thank you so much.”

“Do hobbits … urmmm… eat such fare like this often?” The huge man asked tremulously.

“Oh no, never. For some reason it just sounded very good to me. You must think me terribly odd for eating such a strange assortment of foods.” Frodo chuckled, burping a little. “I apologize if I made you ill at ease.” He yawned and his eyes began to slip closed as the two rangers watched. Once he was asleep, Tulkas removed the dishes and they both exited the room, closing the door behind them.

“I have never seen such a strange concoction eaten before,” Estel said quietly.

“Well, he is healing, perhaps that is what his body says it needs,” Tulkas said lamely. “We should be happy that he’s eating anything at all, I suppose,” he added.

Estel smiled. “I suppose, my friend, although if I were to eat such a meal, I would be very sick indeed.” Tulkas began to chuckle with him in agreement. After the meal the men were called to gather around the table. Estel explained that he would be leaving in the morning for the eastern part of the Shire borders. He instructed each of his men of what he desired them to do in his absence. “I do not want Frodo left alone at any time, this means one of you will need to stay behind to assure his safety.”

“I have no problem with that, Captain,” Tulkas said. “I would like to get to know the halfling better in any case, if you’ll not be needing me elsewhere.”

“It is not that I don’t need you elsewhere, Tulkas. We have a large area to patrol and not enough men, however I feel it is important that we not leave him alone until I can be assured that he has recovered from the worst of his injuries,” Estel said, his eyes locking with the other man’s.

Tulkas nodded. “I’ll watch oer him, Estel, don’t you worry. Nothin’ will happen to him.”

Estel seemed satisfied with the assignments and Tulkas’s reassurances. He said his good nights and headed for his room. He rolled out his bedroll on the floor and fell immediately to sleep.

Sometime during the night he heard someone retching. He hurriedly lit a candle and saw that Frodo was leaning precariously over the edge of the bed, heaving into the chamber pot. “Easy Frodo, easy,” he crooned as he held the hobbit’s head and rubbed the small back. When the convulsions ended and Frodo had been placed back onto his pillows, Estel took up a damp cloth and began to sponge the spittle from the hobbit’s face. Frodo groaned in discomfort.

“Too many unique dinner dishes I think, my friend,” Estel said with a wry grin.

Frodo smiled wanly. “It would seem so, but it tasted marvelous at the time.”

Once the sweet face was cooled and Frodo’s breathing had sunk into a soft rhythm, Estel kissed the hobbit on the flushed forehead, then again on the moist lips. He studied the pallid features. “I cannot stay, Frodo. I can think of naught but you, my love, and it is not seemly that I take advantage of you or that I shirk my duties elsewhere,” he whispered. After giving the soft curls one last fingering he snuffed out the candle and lay back down. It was a long time before sleep finally took him. Thoughts of Frodo and he living contentedly here in the cabin kept flitting through his head. To have the hobbit welcome him home from his patrols, chasing away all of his cares and leaving in their place his child like joy, filled his mind, and he could not help but smile to think of how happy his life could be, if only it could be so simple.

The next morning dawned cold and windy. Estel rose and quietly began to dress. Frodo stirred and turned, seeing the dark shape within the room, he gasped and moved towards the corner of the bed.

“Be at ease, Frodo. It is only I,” Estel said softly, lighting a candle. Frodo studied him closely then relaxed back against the pillows.

He had never seen Estel wearing clothes like these. The man had on a pair of laced up leggings and a soft tunic covered his upper torso. On his feet was a pair of leather boots, heavily oiled to protect against the weather. The heavy woolen cloak he donned gave him a rather sinister appearance and as Frodo watched, Estel affixed a silver star at the opening and pulled the hood up high to all but cover his face.

Frodo shivered at the effect. “You’re leaving me?” he asked quietly.

Estel turned away so that he would not have to look at the hurt blue eyes. “I have other duties that I must see too,” he said gruffly. He gathered up his bedroll, securing it to his pack.

“But, I … I thought…you could send another of your men, couldn’t you?” Frodo hated the way his voice whined making him sound like a plaintive child. He felt tears begin to fill his eyes and brushed them away angrily. “Where will you go? How long will you be gone?” his voice trembled.

“I am to patrol near the East Farthing and should return in about two weeks time. Tulkas is quite capable at taking my place as healer so you will be safe, worry not,” Estel said trying, but failing miserably, to sound reassuring. Seeing the hobbit so miserable tore at his heart. He turned away, determined to make this break once and for all and be off. He glanced at Frodo, dismayed to see the hobbit looking small and bereft, his lower lip quivering as large tears spilled down his cheeks. “It is all right, Frodo, I will see you in two weeks and expect you will be fully recovered at that time. Then we can take you back to the Shire and to your friends.” This statement caused the hobbit to pale and turn away.

“I will be shunned. I am damaged goods and no one will want to have anything to do with me.” He looked sadly up at the ranger, his expression so devoid of happiness that Estel took a step towards him. Frodo held his small hand up stopping the healer. “It seems that it is not only the Shire that feels this way, that you as well, do not want me. I am sorry. If I am able I will be gone before you return so that I will no longer interfere with your ‘duties’,” he said bitterly.

“No Frodo. Stay here. It is naught but two weeks and we can discuss this at length, at that time,” Estel said, alarmed at the sound of utter and total despair in the hobbit’s voice.

“We shall see,” Frodo whispered, turning onto his side and facing away from the ranger.

“Frodo…”

“I am tired. Please go,” Frodo whispered. Estel collected his things, turning at the doorway to give a last look back. He crossed the great room and opened the door, letting in a blast of frigid air. He gritted his teeth as he pulled his cloak closely about him and crossed to the low barn. Securing his items onto Galest, he mounted the horse and trotted from the compound. The day would be frigid and he gave one last longing look back at the low cabin, the smoke curling languidly up from the chimney. He forced Galest into a gallop, feeling more than ever, that he needed desperately to place as many miles as possible between himself and the battered soul within the cabin.

Frodo watched from the small window in the bedroom, his heart all but broken. He felt abandoned and alone as he sank back down onto the mattress, tears flowing silently from his eyes.

TBC


	8. A Letter for Samwise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: This chapter is rated PG, but the fic is rated NC-17
> 
>  
> 
> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.
> 
> This story is rated NC-17 and slashy themes abound. So if slash or male nudity offends you, please go elsewhere.

Estel rode from the stronghold with a heavy heart. He longed to remain and see what would transpire between he and the gentle hobbit but knew he needed time to think on the possible consequences of such a relationship beforehand. He turned his focus to the chore at hand and rode south to the northern border of the Shire. He skirted eastward towards Bree and even though he knew he was close to Hobbiton, he dared not enter its lands and possibly alarm its inhabitants.

After journeying for three days, he found himself on the east-west road leading to Bree, as a small wagon, being pulled by two ponies, approaching him. An elderly hobbit sat on the low seat and peered curiously at him.

“Good day to you, Master Hobbit,” he greeted.

“Good day to yerself, sir,” the hobbit answered, suspicion and apprehension clearly showing on his face.

Estel had positioned himself across the road effectively blocking the wagon. “I am in need of a trustworthy hobbit’s services,” he said.

“An’ what would that be for, if’n I might ask?” the old hobbit inquired.

“I need to have two letters delivered to Hobbiton, to a Master Samwise Gamgee, to be precise. Do you know him?”

The hobbit snorted. “O’ course I knows him. He’s only the best gardener in all o’ the Shire. Worked fer Master Baggins ‘fore he up and disappeared,” the hobbit said sadly.

“You will be gladdened to hear that Master Baggins is alive and well and will be returning to the Shire shortly,” Estel said with a small smile.

The old hobbit’s eyebrows rose. It had come to no surprise on his part that the queer hobbit had disappeared. This small bit of gossip was eagerly absorbed and he was hungry for more. “An’ where might he be then?” he asked.

“That is not your concern, good sir. I desire only to inform his friend of his condition,” Estel said slowly. “I am Strider, a Ranger, and you have my word that he has come to no harm,” he added, deciding that no one need be informed of how Frodo had come to be with he and his men.

“Aston Brambleburrow at yer service and yer families,” the hobbit answered automatically. He had been calmly surveying the man’s unkempt appearance, his gaze finally lighting upon the man’s shoulder where the Silver Star was pinned. He had judiciously avoided rangers, wary of the grim and scruffy appearance of the men. He had heard they were protectors of the Shire, but they were also men, and men were to be given a wide berth in his mind. He had had dealings with men before, some good some not, and had decided that, generally, the race was not to be trusted.

“An’ why should I be trustin’ the likes o’ you, Master Ranger? Fer all I know Master Baggins coulda been kidnapped by yerself an’ yer makin’ the whole thing up?” he glared at the man.

Estel smiled slowly. “I assure you I am a friend of Frodo Baggins and the letters are from him to his gardener. I will pay you handsomely,” he held up two gold coins to show Aston of his intentions, “to deliver these letters. The first coin is for the delivery; the second for the return letter from Master Gamgee. I will be in Bree in two weeks time to retrieve the letter and take it to Master Baggins.” His countenance became grim. “If in two weeks time there is no return correspondence I will have to assume that you have broken your word. I would be … disappointed … and that would not bode well for you, be warned,” he said threateningly.

Aston bristled. “Now see here, ain’t no call to be a threatenin’ me. I may be a lot of things but dishonest ain’t one o’ them. I’ll see to the delivery to Samwise, make no mistake.”

Estel smiled. Were all hobbits this spirited? Frodo had shown similar fire when crossed and he began to wonder if the whole race was filled with such fortitude. “I meant no disrespect, kind sir, only that it is most important that the task be fulfilled.” He placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head to show his sincerity.

Aston harrumphed loudly, squinting suspiciously at the ranger. “Two gold coins seems a bit much for such a simple task,” he said warily. “What else would ye be wantin’, Master Ranger?”

“There is naught else, only the safe delivery of the missives, I assure you. Do we have a bargain then, Master Brambleburrow?”

“Aye, seems simple ‘nough. Samwise will be fair overcome wid joy, he will, that his Master is alive,” Aston replied.

Estel moved slowly, so as not to alarm the hobbit, to the side of the cart. He withdrew the letters and handed them to Aston then placed the two gold coins in the hobbit’s outstretched hand. The hobbit brought one to his mouth, biting down on it. He nodded, satisfied that the coin was indeed, gold. Estel grinned.

“If’n there not be anythin’ else then, Mister Ranger, I’ll jes’ be on me way,” Brambleburrow said, frowning at the man.

Estel gave a slight bow and a small smile. “I thank you, Master Hobbit, and bid you good day.”

“An’ to yerself, sir,” Brambleburrow mumbled. He clicked at the ponies and with a flick of the reins, resumed his slow progress down the road. He glanced back only once. The man sat astride the horse in the middle of the road watching him as he road away. The hair on the back of his neck rose, seeing the man’s steely gaze, and he subconsciously urged the ponies to move faster. His hands were trembling. Only then did he realize how frightened he had been to cross one of the Big Folk. Many times hobbits that were caught out on deserted roadways such as this were not so lucky. It would be all well and good when he could be rid of the letters, he thought to himself and urged the ponies to move faster.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Daisy Gamgee walked slowly up the road towards BagEnd. It had always seemed a magical place to her and she had always looked forward to taking her brother’s lunch to him and fixing a pot of tea for the noon meal. She, Sam and Master Frodo would often sit in the cozy kitchen, talking about what had occupied their mornings or Daisy would fill them in on the local gossip.

“Those days is gone ‘twood seem,” she mumbled. “And poor Sam, he’s naught but skin and bones and near crazed with worry,” she added sadly.

She arrived at the gate to BagEnd and saw that her brother was sitting in his usual spot staring up at the hilltop where he had last seen his Master. Tears filled Daisy’s eyes as she beheld the once round face. This was not her Sam. This person bore no resemblance to her once cheerful and healthy brother. This imposter was a skeleton, his body shrunken from lack of food, as his appetite had diminished day by day since the young Master had been gone. His eyes were circled in black, devoid of any remaining spark in their hazel depths. Daisy was worried not only for Master Frodo, who she had developed an almost brotherly attachment to, but for her little brother. If Master Frodo did not return or, Eru forbid, only his remains were found, she knew that her Sam would be lost to her.

Search parties had been organized and had covered every vale and hill, to no avail. Then on the second day of the search, one of the parties, to which Sam had been attached, had found the Masters knapsack, paints, quills and parchment. They had also found inkbottles, spilled over faint letters rendered in Mr. Frodo’s hand. Large boot prints and hoof prints had covered the ground and Sam had gone into a frenzy searching the area as the rest of the party had stood by in dismay. After the discovery of Mr. Frodo’s belongings the search parties had been harder and harder to organize, believing the Master had been abducted, or worse, killed; his body disposed of so as no one would ever find him. Sam had tried to convince them to continue the searches but, at last, had admitted defeat, and continued to search on his own instead. Each time he came back, his face would be tear stained and his body bent as if he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He had refused to give up, to admit his Master was lost to him, and this is what concerned Daisy the most.

She sighed heavily as she opened the gate. “Brought ye some lunch, Samwise,” she said with forced cheerfulness. Sam seemed to not hear her, continuing to stare at the gap in the tree line. “Samwise, ye need ta eat somethin’. Ye won’t be able to care for Mr. Frodo, when he returns, if’n ye don’t ‘ave yer own health,” she scolded.

Sam turned haunted eyes upon her. “He *will* be back, won’t he Daisy?” he asked quietly.

Daisy stared at Sam in concern. She placed her arm about his shoulders and steered him towards the green door, alarmed at how cold he was. He must have spent the night outside on the bench again regardless of the time of year. “’O course he will, Sam. He’s probably jes’ decided to go on to Bree or that Rivendell yer always talkin’ ‘bout,” she replied, trying to infuse confidence into her voice even though she was of the same mind as the search parties and believed the Master had probably come to a bad end.

Sam seemed not to notice though. “He said he’d only be gone three days,” he mused.

He allowed himself to be steered into the smial and Daisy walked him to the parlor, sitting him in Mr. Frodo’s chair nearest to the fire. She placed a blanket around his shoulders and another across his lap. He ignored her, staring sadly into the fire. She stared at him worriedly, knowing that the loss of Master Frodo was slowly driving her brother to the brink of madness. She turned away quickly, brushing tears from her face, and then moving determinedly towards the kitchen. She looked in the pantry and found it was very full, stocked in hopes of Mr. Frodo’s return, by Sam. The sight made tears well once again. She set the lunch she had prepared to the side deciding to fix Sam something hot off the grill.

She selected some eggs, butter, milk and a rasher of bacon and carried them back into the kitchen. Soon she had the table laid with the meal and went to retrieve her brother. Sam sat in the same position Daisy had left him in, still staring solemnly into the fire. “Lunch is ready, Sam dear,” she said softly as she gently urged him out of the chair and into the kitchen. She poured him a cup of tea then placed his plate in front of him.

He looked down at the food then up at Daisy. “Daisy, I’m really not very hungry. I’m sorry to have put ya to such trouble,” he added quietly.

“Nonsense, Samwise Gamgee.” She placed her fists on her hips and assumed a posture that would brook no argument. Sam allowed a small smile to touch his lips realizing that this was the same posture his mother, Bell, had often assumed when faced with a stubborn child. “I didn’t slave o’er a hot stove to ‘ave you leave perfectly good food uneaten. So you’re jes’ gonna ‘ave to sit there till every bite is gone.” She knew Sam spent his days, lately, sitting on Mr. Bilbo’s old bench outside the green door watching the hillside or the road for any sign of his Master. Threatening to keep him from his vigil was the only way to make him do as she wished.

Sam’s eyes widened, “But Daisy …”

“No Sam. I won’t allow you to slowly kill yerself,” she said her eyes filling with tears and her lip quivering.

Sam gazed up at her, a wave of guilt washing over him for causing her to worry. “All right, lass, but I may not be able ta finish it all.” Daisy frowned down at him. He smiled up at her. “I will try, Daisy, but it’s been a bit o’ since I’ve eaten so much as this,” he tried to explain. Daisy gave him a short nod then moved to the sink to wash up the dishes.

“I’ve also run a bath for you, Sam, and I ‘spect you could use one. Yer smelling a might sour, ya are, and I won’t take no fer an answer.” Her voice softened when she saw the look of near panic in Sam’s eyes. “I’ll watch fer Master Frodo, Sam,” she said softly. “But you got to take better care of yerself, me dear. I laid out clean clothes as well, see that ya change outta them dirty ones. I reckon it’s been nigh on a week since ye changed,” she scolded. Although she had tried to keep her voice firm at the last moment she had had to turn away as tears had again filled her eyes.

“Alright lass, if’n it’ll make ya happy,” Sam said softly. After picking at the eggs and nibbling on a bit of the toast, he rose and made his way to the washroom. He removed his clothes and sank down into the awaiting bath. He had to admit it felt lovely as he slowly began to wash.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daisy had finished washing Sam’s clothes by the time her brother had finished his bath. He wrapped himself in one of Mr. Frodo’s woolen cloaks and resumed his vigil of the hilltop. The sound of a wagon approaching caused her to look up from her work. She saw that it was old Mr. Brambleburrow and watched as he pulled the wagon up to the gate.

“’Mornin’ to ya Mr. Brambleburrow. How are ya this morn’?”

“’Can’t complain, Miss Daisy. And you and yers, how be they?” he replied as he continued the expected response.

“They’re all well, thank ye much fer askin’. What can I do fer ya today, sir?”

“Well, I had an encounter wid one ‘o them Rangers. Near scared me ta death, I don’t mind tellin’ ya, it did. ‘Seems Master Frodo is alive and well and wid some Big Folk that’s a takin’ care ‘o him,” he added matter of factly as if this information was common knowledge to all. “Is Samwise about, Miss Daisy? I gots sumptin’ fer him from the young Master.”

Daisy’s eyes had flown open wide, her mouth dropping upon hearing the news. “Oh praise all that be! I’ll go an’ fetch him right away.” Before Brambleburrow could reply she was away, fairly flying towards the green door. She was quite out of breath as she grabbed the arm of a surprised Samwise and fairly dragged him to the gate and to Brambleburrow.

“Say … again … Mr. Brambleburrow. Tell me brother what ye jes’ tol’ me, sir” she gasped.

Brambleburrow graced her with a rare smile. “I said Mr. Baggins is alive and well and in the company o’ some Big Folk. Are ye deaf, lass?” He began to chuckle at the looks on both of their faces. It was obvious that even though he had already told Daisy the news, it had not fully registered, eliciting the same incredulous expression the second time around. But Sam’s face was what really caused the old hobbit to chuckle. The lad’s expression was a mix of joy, relief and shock.

“How do ya know this, Mr. Brambleburrow?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

“A Ranger stopped me on the road to Bree and gave me two letters fer ya. Right strange fellow, but seemed genuine enough in his intentions. I’m ta take a return letter ta Bree in two weeks time at the latest.” He reached into an old and dusty bag at his feet. “Now where did I put those?” he mumbled to himself. Sam’s eyes fixed expectantly on the hobbit, his hands shaking in anticipation. “Ah, here they be,” Brambleburrow said as he withdrew the missives and placed them in Sam’s outstretched hand.

Sam looked at the writing on the outside of the folded piece of parchment. One had writing that was unfamiliar to the gardener; the other was written in his Master’s distinctive script. He fell to his knees, sobs of relief erupting from him. Brambleburrow felt his eyes fill with tears as he watched the obviously devoted servant break down. He turned away to hide his face. He had a reputation of being cantankerous and without emotion, and it wouldn’t do to have people think otherwise.

Sam tore the seal and slowly read the contents of the letter. He turned glittering eyes up to Daisy, a huge smile on his face. “He’s alive … he’s alright! He’s been in some kind ‘o accident,” he added, his face clouding, “but it seems some Rangers are takin’ care ‘o him and says he’ll be home in a few weeks.”

Daisy helped him to his feet and gave him a tight hug. “Oh Sam, I can’t tell you how happy I am right now. The Master alive…who woulda’ ever thought it after all this time!” She turned to the forgotten hobbit in the wagon. “I apologize to ya, Mr. Brambleburrow, fer our rudeness, it’s jes’ that we’re near besides ourselves, is all.”

“No apologies necessary, Miss Daisy,” Brambleburrow said smiling. “I ‘spected such a reaction from ye. I’ll stop by in a few days time for a return letter, if that’d be alright, Samwise?”

Sam nodded numbly as he continued to stare down at the writing on the parchment. Brambleburrow nodded at them and clicked the reins. As the ponies retraced their way down the lane, he smiled to himself. True, the Ranger had frightened him badly but now he found he was filled with a warm glow. It occurred to him that the Man had actually done him a favor by asking him to deliver the letters. He had felt feelings he had thought long since gone. He smiled widely as he gazed at the winter landscape, seeing the true beauty of winter in the Shire for the first time in years and began to sing an old traveling song from his youth.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Ranger known as Strider sat in a dark corner of The Prancing Pony and slowly puffed on his pipe. A dark green hood, weather worn and splattered with mud, completely covered his form except for his knee high leather boots, which were also caked in mud. The hood covered all but his chin, which was strong and square. He spoke to no one, preferring to sit unnoticed as he listened to the various patrons.

“Ha! ‘Don’ care a wit fer them halflings. Little rats, they are. There’s but one purpose fer the likes o’ them, I say, and tha’s a good lay. They are a treasure, bein’ so tight an’ all,” a huge sweaty man said gave a knowing look at his cronies. Raucous laughter and nods came from all at the table. Strider ground his teeth and fought the urge to rise and break his chair over the man’s back. Just thinking of the sweet hobbit, now safe with his men, and what had befallen him, made Strider feel both anger and a wave of protectiveness.

Another man joined the trio, staggering across the room with a fresh pint of Butterbur’s brew. He slammed the flagon down on the table and assumed a satisfied leer. “I just ‘ad me some good hobbit. I tupped ‘em so many times he finally bled ta death,” he laughed loudly and all at the table joined in as they began pressing him for more details. The rapist sat down and began to elaborate. “I went north o’ here to a place the runts call Bywater. There was a rat ice fishin’ in a pool and when his back was turned I nabbed him. Ain’t da first time I been there neither. I nabbed another ‘bout two weeks ago. He got away, tho’, but not afore I ‘ad him twice. Nothin’ better than a halflin’ fer pleasure,” he smiled dreamily, remembering the encounter.

 

Strider rose suddenly, a feeling of disgust and revulsion rising up within him. He crossed the room and claimed a table in a dark corner; forcefully restraining the urge to draw his sword and end the despicable creatures lives once and for all. His grasp on the hilt of his sword had tightened so much so that his knuckles had turned white. He took several deep breaths trying to regain his calm. It would not do to start an altercation here, but he vowed to tighten his vigil near Bywater in order to protect its dwellers.

“Cal an’ ‘is men is still out, I see,” said the sweaty man. “They said sumptin’ ‘bout making towards Hobbiton. Heard tell there’s some well-to-do hobbits livin’ there. I plan ta do the same; no reason he should get all da treasure. Who’s wid me? If we beats ‘em der we could split da take a tween us.”

Everyone at the table called out their desire to join in and they rose as one and left the tavern, staggering towards the stable. Nob moved into their path on his way to clear the table and the men leered at him as he passed.

Strider rose and began to follow. He stopped at the entrance, knowing it would take time for the ruffians to make their way to the stable, and stopped Butterbur. “Do you have a letter for Master Frodo Baggins in your possession?” he asked the innkeeper.

Butterbur’s brow furrowed. “Oh, aye came in yesterday. But why should you be concerned ‘bout it? It ain’t yers,” he asked suspiciously, eying the Ranger with not a small amount of fear.

“Master Baggins has instructed me to retrieve any post he might receive and take it to him,” Strider answered impatiently.

“So you say, Ranger, but how am I to know this?”

“I can only give you my word, Master Butterbur, and my word is my oath,” he growled.

Butterbur looked doubtfully at the man and decided he might be many things but foolish was not one of them. This man frightened him badly and he did not wish to anger him further. Besides, there was an air of honesty about him so he decided to trust him at his word. “Your word then it is,” he said. “I hope I am not placin’ my trust in ye unwisely.”

“I assure you, I have only good intentions. I am leaving a letter for any Ranger who may happen by your establishment, and I trust that you will see it delivered,” Strider added. He needed to alert his men of the ruffians that planned to invade the Shire. He knew he could successfully subdue one of the groups, but two was beyond even his skills. He quickly wrote his letter on a piece of parchment that Butterbur pushed towards him, took the proffered wax and sealed it. He addressed it simply “Rangers of the North” and handed it back to the innkeeper. “You have been good enough to trust me, now I ask the same of you, Master Butterbur.”

Butterbur took the letter with a grunt and placed it in the cash box. “I’ll make sure it’s delivered if one of yer kind ‘appens by,” he huffed.

Strider gave the man a grim smile and made a hasty exit. His men would attempt to capture the scoundrels and bring them back to Bree to await judgment. He knew the Sheriff in Bree was an honorable man with no patience for those who wished harm to the halflings living in the area and would see them properly punished.

He made his way to the stables to retrieve Galest. When he arrived, to his dismay, he saw that the unsavory men had already departed. The conversation with Butterbur had taken more time than he had anticipated. He mounted and rode quickly down the street and out of Bree, his chest tightening as a feeling of foreboding washed over him. He thought of Frodo and, for reasons he could not explain, worried for his safety. He pushed the thought from his mind knowing that the hobbit was safely in the care of his men. He quickened his pace, making for the tiny hamlet of Hobbiton and its innocent inhabitants.

tbc


	9. Trouble Brewin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
>  
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.

Captain Thorongil had had no trouble whatsoever following the brigand of ruffians. They seemed completely unconcerned about discretion even going so far as to start a fire when they finally made camp. Estel shook his head, amazed at the audacity of the men. He had left Galest in a small meadow not far from the tree line that skirted the northern border of the Shire. He had followed the men at a discreet distance for three days now, watching and listening with sickening dread as they made their plans to pillage and torture the innocent Shire inhabitants. He thought of the ethereal hobbit that he had left behind and a small smile lit his face. His thoughts drifted as he thought of the surprises he had purchased for the hobbit while in Bree and hoped his newfound friend would be pleased.

 

He had taken advantage of being in a town and bought supplies for the group. He had happened upon a small booth inside a large dance hall, protected from the cold and run by two plump female hobbits.

“An’ what can I get you, kind sir?” the older of the two had asked him with a suspicious look.

“I am impressed with your vegetables, Madam, considering it is the darkest days of winter,” he replied with a smile.

“Ah, thas’ what a cold room is fer, Mr….” She said.

“Strider. You may call me Strider,” he replied with a short bow.

She had tensed at the name and Estel realized that his reputation had preceded him. He bent to look at the mushrooms displayed in a large basket. “Mushrooms. I have just the person who would be delighted to have some of these plump beauties,” he said.

She brightened. “Those are me pride and joy, they are. I grows them in me cellar.” She bent towards him, conspiratorially. “Manure, ya know, tis right good fer growin’ good mushrooms,” she added.

“How would I pack these if I was on horseback? It may be awhile before I am able to get them to my friend,” he asked with a frown.

“Ah, ain’t no trouble at all, I’ll pack them real nice in a bit of the dirt. Jes’ don’t let em get too cold, mind you, or they’ll be ruin’t.”

He nodded. “Then I’d like a pouch full, if you please.” She smiled and filled a pouch with a generous helping of the fungi, adding some of the soil around them to protect them from the cold.

“Anything else for you, kind sir?”

“I see you have pickled vegetables as well,” he said eyeing the shelves behind the little lady.

“Aye, but not a one have I sold today,” she said with a sigh.

“I would like some of the pickled beans and perhaps a jar of the cauliflower as well,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Ye must ‘ave a lass in the family way.” She grinned. “Lass’s crave ‘em somethin’ awful when they’re carryin’ a bairn.”

Estel chuckled. “No, I am afraid not, just a friend who enjoys them, especially the brine.”

She looked quizzically at him. “Me daughter was the same way when she was ‘spectin’.” She carefully placed two of the bottles on the table. “Yer friend wouldn’t happin’ to be female, would she? ‘Cuz, take it from an old hobbit who knows, she’s ‘spectin’.”

He smiled again, frowning down at the glass bottles with the wax seals and expertly changing the subject. “How will I get these to where I’m going, I wonder,” he said looking at the bottles in dismay.

She smiled. “Taint no problem ‘tall, Mr. I’ll jes’t pack ‘em in sawdust and they’ll ride right fine, you’ll see.” He selected some of the love apples, carrots and potatoes, paid for the items, and with a low bow departed. He carefully strapped the food inside the saddlebags and went back to the Prancing Pony. The men were still there and he made himself comfortable, mentally preparing himself to follow the foul men when they made their way towards the Shire.

He forced himself from his reverie, chagrined that, once again, his thoughts had wandered from his duty. He frowned. Until he had met Frodo he had had little else than duty to focus on. Now he was disturbed that the hobbit he had grown to love seemed to be ever in his thoughts. He shook his head. Thoughts of Frodo were welcomed, he argued to himself. They only served to bring home the importance of his mission, but he would have to be more vigilant as to when those thoughts would enter his mind. He looked back at the men around the fire and decided that it was time to take a more direct approach. He left the shelter of the trees and noisily approached the campfire. The men jumped to their feet, drawing their swords as he made himself known.

“Might a weary traveler join you at your fire?” Estel said as he raised his hands indicating he was not a threat.

“Depends. Who might ya be and why are you prowlin’ the woods?” One of the men asked threateningly.

“Just a wanderer such as yourself, I assure you. I have heard that there is great wealth to be found in these parts and decided that I would like to see if it were true.”

“We’re doin’ the same. Headin’ towards Hobbiton,” chimed in one of the other men.

The first man shot a glare at the second. “Hold yer tongue, Clem, or I’ll cut it from yer foul mouth,” he growled.

The one called Clem looked angrily back at the first man as his hand moved to his dagger on his belt. “Tain’t no secret, Flint. Everyone heard us back at the pub,” he muttered.

“Don’t matter. No reason to let everyone, ‘specially strangers that jes’ showed up outta nowhere, in on our plans,” he replied giving the man a baleful look then leveling his glare on Estel. His gaze skated over the lanky ranger lingering at last on the sword. “Thas’ a mighty nice sword ya got there, stranger. Where might ya have got such a nice piece o’ weaponry?” His eyes had a strange glint in them as he eyed Estel’s sword covetously.

“That is not your concern,” Estel said slowly.

“I think it is, Mr. I think that there sword would look mighty fine on my belt, I do.” He moved towards Estel and the ranger drew his weapon, assuming a defensive pose. The man lunged towards him but with a single swing, Estel easily cleaved the man’s head from his body.

As the beheaded torso fell to the earth, he turned on the others. “Would anyone else like to try and take my sword, or was this worm the only one who was so foolish?” he growled.

The others backed away, still brandishing their weapons, but their faces were full of uncertainty and fear. “Taint no reason ta get all riled up now,” said the man called Clem. “Were all on the same type o’ quest.” He raised his hands indicating he was more friend than foe. But he had a hard gleam in his eyes and the smile that lit his lips was more of a snarl than one of friendship.

Estel wiped the blood from the blade and made to sit beside the fire. The men, with not so much as a glance at the body of their fallen comrade, slowly joined him, but none sat too close. The conversation gradually recommenced and eventually a cup of coffee was offered to the new member of their little group. Two of the men rose saying they needed to relieve themselves. The ranger watched each of the remaining men carefully as he listened intently to their plans for the Shire. He heard a rustle behind him and jumped to his feet, but he was a second too late and the men who had left the fire and circled around behind him pounced, knocking him to the ground. There was evil laughter from all as they pushed him to the ground. But Estel was not as helpless as they thought and twisted quickly, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword. He speared one of the men and swung around to face the other members of the group. One of the men had a dagger drawn and expertly threw it as he turned. It pierced his shoulder and he cried out in pain as spasms shot down his right arm.

He turned on them, ignoring the pain for the moment and one by one fought each of the remaining trio until all that remained were corpses around the crackling fire. Clem had decided early on, that this was not a battle he wished to involve himself in. He backed away from the carnage until he was secreted by the tree line, disappearing into the darkness. He decided that since the man knew they had been heading towards Hobbiton, that traveling north and lying low seemed the best bet.

Estel staggered to the small stream that ran alongside the campsite. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the dagger out. He moaned as the pain ripped through him. Wetting a cloth in the rivulet he washed the wound, placing a dry bandage over it as he tried to stem the flow of blood. After a few moments the bleeding slowed to a trickle and satisfied that the wound was not as serious as he had first thought, he slumped down against a small sapling and lost consciousness.

 

Tulkas slowly stirred the simmering stew as he gazed, unseeing, out of the window. Four weeks. It had been four weeks since Estel had gone and still no word. It wasn’t unusual for his Captain to be gone long stretches of time but Estel had said he would be back in two and a gnawing unease had begun to grip the huge ranger.

“If ya stir that much more it’s gonna be naught but mush, Tulkas,” Daekon said laughing.

Tulkas started out of his reverie and glanced over at the other ranger with a smile. “Aye, but remember the one time I didn’t, how it stuck to the pot and tasted like someone had given ya a bowl full o’ ashes?” He chuckled.

“Stir all ya want then,” the man said quietly, remembering the resulting catastrophe and how he had been unable to wash the after taste from his mouth. It had taken Tulkas two days of soaking to get the burnt goo off of the bottom of the pot.

“Yer driftin’, my friend. What’s got ya so distracted?” Daekon said with concern. He was the empathetic one of their group and everyone knew that should they need someone to pour their worries or troubles out to it would be this man. Tulkas flashed him another smile.

“Jes’ wonderin’ where the Captain is, is all, and hopin’ he’s not got hisself into any trouble.”

Daekon nodded. “Well, after dinner I’ll be leavin’ for patrol and I mean to look for ‘em, if it makes you feel any better,” the man murmured.

“Aye, that does make me feel a might better, thank you Daekon.” Tulkas’s face visibly relaxed hearing the other ranger’s plans. Daekon nodded and left to join the other men around the fire.

Tulkas watched him go as he turned and made for the pantry. He sighed. The shelves were practically bare. His pickled vegetables had sat for over a year on those shelves, collecting dust while the men ran out of excuses for not eating the briny contents. But he had finally found one who devoured them greedily, and Tulkas had quickly discovered how voracious a lone hobbit could be.

His thoughts drifted to their new friend and house guest. Frodo had healed well since Estel’s leaving, even regaining the use of his feet. It was not unusual to see him hobbling about, engaged in conversation with the men. The rangers were completely devoted to him, and spent long hours telling stories or jokes with their smaller comrade. It did Tulkas’s heart good to hear the lyrical laughter amidst that of his friends. But Frodo pined for Estel. That was the only word that would describe the melancholy that seemed to creep over the hobbit’s face whenever the ranger’s name was mentioned.

Then there was the sickness that had hung so persistently over the hobbit. Tulkas knew Frodo had had problems with his stomach rebelling before Estel had left but, like Estel, had attributed it to the medicinal teas they had been giving him. But after four weeks, the vomiting had continued and Tulkas was beginning to become truly alarmed. He had been awoken in the early hours of morning the day after Estel had left, to the sounds of retching. He had hurried to the hobbit’s room only to see him hanging precariously over the edge of the bed, his arms shaking violently, as he tried to support his weight while he heaved into the chamber pot. Tulkas had instantly been at his side, supporting the small figure. Frodo had looked up at him, his eyes full of misery and humiliation, saying weakly, ‘Please Tulkas, I know you mean well, but I prefer to do this alone.’  
Tulkas had nodded and after rubbing Frodo’s back in sympathy, had left the hobbit to be sick in private. He didn’t blame Frodo for feeling that way. Most people, he had found, preferred their privacy as their body’s rebelled against them, convulsing and expelling its contents.

After that he had not gone to the hobbit although he heard him almost every night and morning heaving into the basin, but only after the door had been shut and securely locked. Frodo had healed in every way save this and Tulkas wished with all his heart that Estel were with them to take care of the hobbit as he saw fit.

Tulkas returned his eyes to the empty shelves and was glad he had sent Tilion to Bree to purchase much needed supplies. He pulled a dusty bottle of pickled carrots from the shelf, blowing off the lid and wiping away a cobweb. He took a knife, scored the wax and began to ladle the contents into a large bowl. Next he poured a generous amount of the briny liquid into a cup, giving an involuntary shudder. He placed these on a tray along with a healthy portion of mashed potatoes, gravy, love apple slices, water and rolls. He eyed the tray disparagingly. “Strange fare and right slim by hobbit standards,” he grumbled to himself. Still, nothing else seemed to stay down in the slight being. Sometimes the men would catch fish in the near frozen stream and Frodo would devour them hungrily. He made a mental note to have one of the group go to the icy river later that evening.

He picked up the tray and walked to the doorway of Estel’s room. He knocked and entered slowly. What he saw near broke his heart. Frodo sat in the windowsill, a book of Numenorean lore forgotten in his lap, gazing into the fog that surrounded the cabin. Tulkas cleared his throat as he shut the door behind him, shutting out the smells of the simmering stew.

“He’s not coming back, is he Tulkas?” Frodo said mournfully, not turning to look at the ranger.

“’Course he’s comin’ back, jes’ been delayed is all,” Tulkas answered quietly.

Frodo turned towards him and the ranger’s chest tightened at the haunted look in the hobbit’s eyes. Frodo’s face was pale except for dark circles beneath his eyes. He watched as Frodo slowly lowered himself down from the sill and hobbled over to where the ranger had set the tray. He studied the hobbit noting that he was still far too thin save for the stomach that seemed to be filling out a bit.

“How are you feeling tonight, Frodo?” he asked.

“Fine, except my back is aching again. It seems if I stand for any length of time that that happens.” He smiled up at the behemoth. “What a lovely looking meal,” he said enthusiastically, flashing Tulkas a broad grin.

“There’s stew, if you’d like, Frodo.”

The hobbit’s face blanched and the smile faded. “Ah…I’m sure it’s delicious. Maybe later,” he murmured apologetically.

Tulkas chuckled. “No need to worry about injuring my feelings, my friend, although I find it odd for a hobbit to not eat stew. From all I’ve heard hobbits delight in all forms of food and a hearty stew is one of their favorites.” His grin slowly left his face. “I worry about you, little one. You have lost weight except for your hobbity paunch and your color is poor.”

Frodo smiled indulgently. I am fine, Tulkas. You have been a wonderful healer in Estel’s absence. After you and the others have finished their stew, I promise to join you in the common room.” He graced the ranger with a genuine smile that touched his eyes.

Tulkas’s eyebrows rose and he slowly grinned. “Ah, someone wants a pint and a pipe, I think.”

Frodo laughed. “You’ve caught me.” He looked at the tray and licked his lips. He picked up the roll, buttered it, dipped it in the brine, and began to eat. He closed his eyes as he chewed, a look of one truly enjoying a meal, on his face.

Tulkas grimaced. He wished Frodo a good meal then left, closing the door behind him and leaving the hobbit to his very odd meal. The men were making their way to the long table, regaling each other of what had been heard or seen while on their various patrols. There were rumors of an influx of undesirable men heading into the Shire and, indeed, they had found themselves engaged more and more in arm to arm combat resorting in escorting the intruders to the nearest jail or killing them outright. While the protection of the borders was more of a ranger’s duty, the sheriff supported the oath that the men had taken and was more than happy to take the offenders off of the patrols hands. Many of the thugs had other warrants against them, so jailing them was never questioned.

After the meal was eaten, Daekon said his goodbyes and, with a wink at Tulkas, left for his patrol. The remaining men gathered in the common room. A map was pulled from a shelf and they began to pour over it as they tried to decide which of them would patrol where in the vast expanse that was the Shire.

Soon Frodo joined them, having eaten his fill, and pulled a pipe from his pocket. Tilion had proven himself a talented tailor producing, much to Frodo’s delight, a small selection of altered clothing. Frodo smiled to himself as he reflected on his growing paunch. After eating all of the fine food since joining the troupe Tilion would need to enlarge the pants, yet again, to accommodate his expanding girth.

He joined the men at the long table, climbing up on the stack of books that served to boost him to their level. Kaden, a tall, serious looking ranger gave Frodo a wink. There was a mischievous spark in his eyes and Frodo smiled in anticipation. He had learned, by now, that Kaden was a prolific prankster despite his outward appearance. Frodo surreptitiously glanced about the room and easily spied a small rope attached to the leg of Halbarad’s chair. The rope was secreted beneath a tattered rug and at the far end sat Oden. He too, gave Frodo a quick wink. As Halbarad began to sit down, Oden gave a quick jerk on the rope, pulling the chair from beneath the unsuspecting ranger.

Halbarad’s eyes flew open in surprise and, unable to check his momentum, sprawled backwards onto the floor. The room erupted into raucous laughter with Oden falling to the floor, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

“Very funny,” Halbarad grumped as he rose and began dusting off his clothes.

“You shoulda’ seen your face,” Kaden gasped, still mopping tears from his eyes.

Frodo continued to giggle helplessly and Halbarad shot him a pseudo-warning look but, unable to maintain the glare, began to chuckle as well. “And you, my friend, I am sure were involved as well,” he said laughing.

Frodo’s eyes widened, his face taking on his most innocent of expressions. “Not this time, Halbarad. I was only a delighted onlooker,” he giggled. Frodo and Kaden had become close friends, as he had with all of the men. Their combined efforts had become legendary and the men cringed whenever they saw the two giggling, their heads together, as they schemed over some new prank. There had been the snow balls hidden deep within Rendon’s bedroll, the warm porridge in Galen’s shoes, the bucket of water over the doorway followed by a small bag of flour which soaked then dusted a surprised Tulkas. But the best one, to Tulkas’s horror, had been the liberal drizzling of honey in a sleeping Tilion’s hair. The lyrical sound of Frodo’s laughter had always dispelled any ire, leaving, instead, a warm feeling in the men’s hearts not unlike that of an embrace from a small child. Frodo’s presence amongst them had infused the household with a much-needed touch of levity and lightheartedness. This made the men feel, more than ever, a fierce protectiveness towards the hobbit’s homeland.

Frodo would often break into song as he stood over a large pot washing dishes. The deep baritone of Tulkas frequently would join the sweet tenor voice and it was not unusual to see the men secretly wiping their eyes as they listened to the harmony of the two. Frodo sang not only the endearing songs of the Shire and its people but also the tales of legend and valor more common to the outside world. His voice would sadly resonate through the cabin as he sang the tale of Beren and Luthien or brightly regale them with the champions of battles fought long ago.

Tales would be told, usually by Halbarad, as they sat by the fire. Frodo would listen, transfixed, as the night crept over them, until at last, he was lulled to sleep by the ranger’s voice. Whoever had the hobbit on his lap would gently carry him to his bed before retiring himself. He had so wormed his way into their hearts that they could not imagine the cabin without his bright spirit.

Two more weeks passed. Daekon had returned from patrol, looking discouraged. He had seen no trace of the Captain, and only knew that Estel had last been seen in Bree many weeks beforehand. Frodo’s attention was never far from the door or a nearby window, as he impatiently watched for the return of the group’s Captain. Each of the men had begun to share the hobbit’s unease and frequently could be seen in the company of Frodo as he maintained his silent vigil.

Frodo continued to heal, the only evidence of his ordeal being the occasional haunted look in his eyes or the slight limp when he was over tired. Tulkas could still hear the hobbit in the wee hours of morning retching into the chamber pot, but forced himself to stay in his bedroll, knowing that the hobbit did not want his help or presence in the room. The nausea had abated, much to his relief, only occurring in the morning and when certain foods were prepared. Deer stew or meat seemed to trigger the worst reactions, causing Frodo to suddenly bolt from the room, slamming the door closed behind him, followed by the sound of retching. Frodo would usually not come out afterwards and when he finally did emerge, he was always deathly pale, his face coated in a sheen of perspiration.

One night, as Frodo was standing over a steaming pot of dirty dishes, Tilion burst into the cabin along with a gust of frigid air. He was covered in snow, his face was flushed and he was gasping harshly, as if he had run or ridden a long distance.

The men rose suddenly, drawing their swords and Frodo whirled around, as a rush of adrenaline surged through him. The group quickly re-sheathed their swords and hurried to the lad’s side. Tilion was helped to a chair as he began to speak, the words tumbling over each other in an impatient rush.

“Men…the Shire,” he gasped.

The crash of broken crockery caused the rangers to turn suddenly. Frodo stood on the chair by the pot of hot water, his lip quivering, all color drained from his face.

Tilion gulped guiltily. “Frodo…I did not see you. I am sorry if I frightened you,” he said breathlessly.

Frodo climbed quickly down from the chair, fairly running to Tilion’s side. “What did you hear, Tilion?” he cried.

Tilion turned pleading eyes on the rest of the group. He turned to Frodo seeing the fear in the hobbit’s eyes. “Frodo, I do not wish to alarm you further, perhaps you should leave us and let us discuss…”

“NO! I will not leave! I am not a child and this has more to do with me than any of you!” Frodo shouted. He turned his damp face up, looking at each of the rangers in turn. One by one, the men averted their gazes.

 

“Frodo, leave us to discuss this matter and find out what has alarmed Tilion. We will come for you when we’ve finished deciding what to do,” Tulkas said as he drew himself up, towering over the hobbit. His voice left no room for argument, but then he had already had dealings with the young master of Bag End and knew this would not proceed smoothly. It seemed another great battle of wills was about to be waged.

A bead of sweat slid between his shoulder blades as he watched Frodo slowly draw himself to his full height. Seven pairs of eyes swiveled from Tulkas to Frodo. Although the image of the two facing each other was ludicrous, one huge and hulking, the other diminutive and slim and should have caused all present to burst into laughter, none did. On the contrary, each man present had witnessed the previous battles between the two stubborn individuals and knew that each had formidable qualities.

Frodo was very intelligent and quick to use his wits to his advantage, while Tulkas would first try to use reason with the hobbit, which Frodo would easily counter with his logic or facts on the matter. Eventually, Tulkas would lose patience and resort to shouting and attempts to browbeat Frodo. Finally, when this too failed, he resorted to the physical, grabbing the hobbit and slinging him over his shoulder, carrying him to his room, and depositing him gently onto the bed. Frodo would be heard shouting his displeasure as the door was quickly closed and locked from the outside.

Disagreements between the two were rare and each of the men remembered the last time it had happened and dreaded what was to come. Frodo had been so incensed on that previous occasion that he had pummeled and kicked the huge ranger as he was carried and sequestered into Estel’s room. He had made his mark, leaving Tulkas with a bloody nose and several colorful bruises. Unfortunately he had sustained injuries as well unbeknownst to the men until the following morning. Moans had been heard throughout the night, but each had thought it was due to the hobbit’s continued displeasure of the whole incident.

The following morning Frodo had slowly made his way from his room, his face drawn and pinched, and hobbling so badly that he had had to use the wall to support himself. When Kaden had looked up from the map he had been pouring over he had dropped his quill with a gasp, crossed the room in two long strides as he swept the hobbit off of his feet just as Frodo’s legs had given out from underneath him.

The resulting clamor had drawn the attentions of everyone and they had come running. Frodo had been unable to register what was happening as a buzz had filled his ears. The last thing he had seen before losing consciousness was Tulkas’s face, damp with tears, his eyes filled with regret and guilt.

When Frodo had awoken he had been snug in his bed, his body cushioned on all sides with pillows and his right leg elevated. Tulkas had been sitting by his side, head in his large hands, weeping. Frodo had touched him lightly on his arm and the ranger had embraced him gently as apologies had poured out in a rush. Frodo had returned the embrace, comforting the huge man with the huge heart. Afterwards he had been informed that Tulkas had been near inconsolable, never once leaving Frodo’s side while the hobbit had been unconscious. Tulkas had never raised his voice or used his size to make Frodo do what he wanted since that time.

Until now…

“I am staying, Tulkas,” Frodo’s voice shook with anger, his fists opening and closing as he prepared for the fight that was sure to come.

“No yer not! We need to discuss this and you are in no condition to be here, what with yer emotions runnin’ high an all about yer friends and family,” the ranger said with authority.

“I am not some misbehaving child that you can send to his room. I am an adult, even if I am half your height and I will not be treated as if my opinions have no bearing on this,” Frodo growled. The men’s eyes swiveled first to Frodo’s face then back to Tulkas as they prepared to jump between the two if necessary.

Tulkas’s face was florid. “Get to yer quarters, hobbit, or I’ll…I’ll…”

“What? Force me? Sling me over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes and toss me in there without so much as a look back?” Frodo shouted.

Tulkas blanched and Frodo was instantly sorry he had said anything. Tulkas reached out to him, his face contrite, as the memory of the past mistake reared its ugly head.

Frodo backed away. His mind suddenly filled with thoughts of Sam being brutalized as he had been. Determination filled his being and he reached behind him, his hand closing around the fireplace poker. He swung it around pointing it at the behemoth. “Not this time, Tulkas. I will not allow these men to subjugate and defile my friends as they did me. I need to be included in this. Please, please let me hear what you have planned to do to stop them. I won’t get in the way, I just need…need to do this,” Frodo said pleading with the man.

Tulkas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he regained his composure. “Oh, very well…Truce. Truce, I say. Put away yer…er…weapon, Frodo an’ let’s all sit down an’ hear what Tilion’ got to say.”

Frodo hesitated, unsure of how he had won this battle so easily. He replaced the poker and joined the men at the fireplace. Tilion had been helped into a chair by the fire and was trying to rub the feeling back into his frozen fingers.

“I was in Bree at the pub. It seemed that at every table there were men boasting of what they were going to do once they entered the Shire. Many wanted the land, others had heard of vast hordes of gold and riches, others wanted only the inhab….” He stopped himself abruptly as he glanced over at Frodo. The hobbit’s frightened face had paled as he looked desperately around the room.

“But we have nothing. We are a simple folk…no riches only the enjoyment of each day as it comes and a good meal, pipe or ale. We have never hurt anyone, why would they want the Shire?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Men are never content with what they have, Frodo. They covet. You and your folk are considered small and helpless, a people easily plundered, and so they think that, if pressed, you will easily fall,” Halbarad said sadly. “Fortunately hobbits are not completely defenseless, which could catch them unawares,” he said with a knowing smile.

Frodo grinned. The others looked confused at Halbarad’s statement. “I do not mean that as a joke, my friends. We have been fortunate to have had one of their kind amongst us but you have not yet witnessed a hobbit defending himself except, of course, you Tulkas.”

Everyone laughed including Tulkas as he rubbed his nose in embarrassment. Frodo climbed into the man’s lap and Tulkas hugged him to him. Halbarad continued, “Frodo, would you mind explaining how a hobbit defends himself?”

Frodo looked around at the group a little nervously. “Well…we have very strong feet and legs, kicking is our best defense up close. We’re also able to secrete ourselves and blend in with the underbrush if we have to hide from an opponent. We can walk without making noise, unlike men,” he blushed.

“What if a foe is coming towards you?” Halbarad asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, well that’s the easiest yet. Shall I show them?” Halbarad nodded and they each donned their cloaks and opened the door to the frigid winter air. The thin branches of the trees looked like twisted fingers on blackened skeletons against the snowy sky.

“Watch carefully,” Halbarad instructed. “Where will you aim, Frodo?”

“There…that tip of that branch that sort of looks like a fork,” he said pointing to a branch that was a great distance from where they stood.

“I don’t see it,” Tilion said trying to follow Frodo’s finger.

“There…on the right side of that tree by the creek,” Frodo said, pointing again.

“That is too far, Frodo. No one could hit that,” exclaimed Rendon.

“A hobbit could,” Frodo said with a grin. He bent and selected several round rocks, which he then held in one hand. He took one in his right hand, staring for a few seconds at his mark and then hurled the stone so fast that none had seen it fly.

The branch quivered, a sharp ‘thwack” ringing out. With a nod from Halbarad, Frodo threw one stone after another in quick succession, as loud pops erupted in the growing dusk, testifying to his accuracy. The last rock thrown was larger but thrown with the same ease as the others. It flew true as it hit its mark only this time the branch broke, crashing down into the creek bed. All turned and looked at Frodo in amazement as the hobbit blushed crimson.

“Hobbits are not as helpless as you would think,” Halbarad said with a smile. “Still, I do not want to chance any harm to befall them. Let us go inside and consider how best to “convince” these foul men to depart these lands, shall we?” He clapped Frodo on the shoulder and they all moved back inside the warmth of the cabin.

From the edge of the trees a man crouched by a rotting log. He had been unimpressed by the hobbit’s demonstration, knowing from past experience that he could easily subdue one of the smaller Shire-dwellers. He watched the hobbit lustfully. He had never seen one so beautiful. He vowed to make this one his.

“Frodo… A nice name. It will be my pleasure to meet you, Frodo, but I doubt it will be yours,” he smiled lecherously revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth and slunk back into the protective darkness of the trees.

TBC


	10. Heart's Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
>  
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.

As the men readied themselves for departure Frodo listened anxiously. “We are greatly outnumbered and the span of the Shire will be difficult to fully guard,” Halbarad said quietly. Furtive glances were cast Tulkas’s way. Tulkas looked troubled and Frodo studied him closely.

“You must go, Tulkas. I no longer need healing hands and the Shire is in desperate need of your fighting skills,” Frodo said giving the hulking man a desperate look.

“Estel was very clear on his orders, my friend. I am not to leave you unguarded. I shall stay.”

‘This man can be so stubborn,’ thought Frodo. He had to somehow convince the giant that he was capable of taking care of himself. He threw himself at the man catching him off balance and off guard, and darted around behind him. He crouched down behind the unsuspecting ranger’s knees causing the behemoth to tumble backwards onto the floor.

Everyone in the room stared, aghast, then broke into raucous laughter. “It would seem, Tulkas, that Frodo is quite capable of defending himself,” chuckled Daekon.

Tulkas studied the hobbit with new respect. Frodo stared back at him, a tiny smirk upon his lips, but his eyes were full of fear…fear for his homeland and what the inhabitants would endure if these Rangers were unable to encircle and thwart the impending threat.

“Masterfully done, Frodo. It would seem that leverage and surprise are tools that I had not heretofore considered and that you are equipped with sufficient speed and agility to catch a larger opponent unaware. But what if that man has a knife, or a sword? What if he overtakes you before you are able to use your expertise against him? No, I cannot, in good conscious, leave you unprotected, my friend,” he said slowly.

Frodo looked at the man, clearly exasperated. “I will promise to bolt and bar the door. I will not leave the cabin except to gather water. I promise, Tulkas. Please, I implore you, please, help my friends. They will be plundered… abused… without your help…as I was.” The hobbit’s eyes filled with tears. Tulkas’s throat clenched, remembering what had befallen this gentle soul.

“You will swear to this, Frodo? I cannot leave unless you give me your word,” Tulkas said warily.

Hope suffused the hobbit’s face. “I swear, Tulkas. I will do anything you ask… anything, just please capture these men before they destroy the Shire’s way of life. I beg you,” Frodo beseeched. He hurried to the man’s side and struggled to help him to his feet.

Tulkas felt uneasy agreeing to the hobbit’s supplications, but knew that without his help, there was a good chance that the ruffians would penetrate the border and enter the Shire. He nodded slowly. A collective sigh came from the group as he crossed to the table to study the maps.

Frodo donned his cloak and ran out the door. Tulkas looked after him in confusion.

Soon enough the hobbit returned dragging Tilion’s saddlebags behind him. He quickly unloaded the much-needed supplies and began to organize them into seven piles. He saved some of the bounty for himself, but most was divided out between the parcels. He studied the stacks of food and then ran from the room to gather anything else that the men might need. Soon he had all seven bags organized including skins of water, rope, bedrolls and warm clothing.

Patrol routes determined, the men dispersed. Rendon brought in more firewood sufficient enough to keep Frodo comfortable and safely inside the cabin. Tulkas surveyed the supplies, removing some of the hobbit-sized portions Frodo had so meticulously divided into the saddlebags and returning the residual to the shelves and cold room. Two large buckets of water was retrieved from the stream before it was time to depart. Although it was still darkest night the hobbit’s sense of urgency had been transferred to the men and they grabbed the awaiting bags and made for the stable.

They stood ready with their horses in front of the cabin. The blizzard swirled about them causing each to double over, drawing their cloaks closer. One by one they knelt in front of the small being. Rendon bestowed a single kiss to Frodo’s forehead; the others clutched his hands within their own, murmuring words of caution and support. Frodo smiled grateful as he hugged each in turn, telling them to be careful and to return safely. Tulkas was last. He knelt before the hobbit and pulled him to his huge chest. “I shall not stop worrying about you, Frodo, until I see you safely once again. Please abide by your oath and be on your guard. We shall return, although I know not when. Until then may the blessings of the Valar be upon you,” he whispered huskily.

The men mounted and, with a wave, left the courtyard. Tulkas gave one last worried look back at the hobbit that stood framed by candlelight within the doorway. Frodo gave a last wave before closing the door, bolting and barring it as he had promised. He extinguished the candles and dressed for bed, slipping beneath the cold blanket. He lay awake for a long time thinking about Sam and the others, and what would happen were the Rangers not successful. Finally, exhaustion took its toll and he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

The man watched from the cover of the trees, a small smile on his lips. He would bide his time and wait to be sure that the rangers would not return. He felt no sense of urgency, knowing the men would probably be gone for many days in their search for others like himself. In a few days time he would take the hobbit as his own and after he had satisfied his own hungers, he would go south. The Shire no longer held any interest to him, knowing that the Rangers would be ever watchful for his kind. Now his sole interest lay in the inhabitant of the cabin and the things that he would do to him. He licked his lips and made for the low stable, hunkering down in the straw and chuckling softly to himself.

 

Estel rode slowly for the first few days allowing his wound to gradually heal. He had stitched it loosely, applied a poultice of athelas, then forced himself to drink some of the healing teas in order to strengthen his depleted body and restore him to health. After five days the wound had closed and he was able to increase his speed. He felt a growing sense of urgency to return to the stronghold and warn his men while assuring himself that Frodo was truly safe. Galest seemed to share the man’s anxiety and, without urging, moved with a swiftness generally uncalled for on the Ranger’s usually sedate patrols. Estel was far south of the Ranger’s abode and knew that it would be yet another four or five days before he arrived. He spoke softly to Galest and the horse broke into a gallop as Estel surveyed the landscape.  
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After four days the storm had finally worn itself out. Frodo looked out the window and saw glimmers of frozen sunlight peeking through the treetops. He could see another storm on the horizon and knew that this pause would not last long. He sighed to himself. ‘I need some fresh air,’ he thought. He looked around the cabin. He had cleaned every surface meticulously, dusting, and washing until the cabin gleamed. He had even unloaded the bookshelves and reorganized the maps and books. Each of the men’s sleeping areas had been tidied, the small cooking area cleaned in an effort to keep his thoughts off of the danger that lurked on the Shire’s borders.

“It would seem I’ve worked myself out of a job,” he murmured to himself. He eyed an open closet of the great room. Here the men had thrown clothing that was even too filthy for their tastes. Frodo’s face brightened. Galen was usually the one that drew the task of washing the laundry but Frodo decided, impulsively, that he would surprise the men with fresh clothing for when they returned. He gathered the garments, drawing back in distaste as the overpowering stench assaulted him. ‘These should be burned instead of washed,’ he thought.

He decided to separate each pile into the individual ranger’s clothing so that he would be able to distinguish what belonged to whom. His eyes watered as he sorted the cloth into seven piles. He looked about the room and frowned. ‘Where to wash them,’ he thought. ‘If I wash them inside it will make my clean floor wet and muddy.’ He smiled suddenly. “I think that I might kill two birds with one stone. I can spend some time outside in the fresh air and get the laundry done at the same time. I won’t be far from the door and I *will* be fetching water, so *technically* I will have still kept my oath,” he reasoned out loud.

He gathered as many deep pots as he could find and after bundling up in his warmest cloak, opened the door and began his walk to the creek bed. Birds sang about him as he breathed in the frigid air. It felt wonderful to be out of the confines of the cabin and his step was light even though the pots were rather heavy as he returned to the cabin. He placed the pots on the stove after adding more wood to the fire, then strung rope in short lengths about the room to hang the freshly washed laundry. The kettles began to sing and boil and he took the water outside to the tub that sat on a low makeshift table Galen had set up for just that purpose. He filled the tub, mixing snow and soap with the water then retrieved the first pile of clothing. Even the sweaty shirts steaming in the suddenly black water did not overshadow his delight at being outside, and he broke into a happy Shire song as he scrubbed at the stubborn stains on the shirt. It *looked* like the shirt had once been white, but now was a dark brown. He shook his head in disgust as the water darkened and the color gradually began to pale back to its original pigment.

From the shadows of the small stable the man watched through a slat in the boards. He munched absently on some dried meat and then wiped the drool from his mouth onto his sleeve. He smiled smugly to himself. He had been most patient, biding his time until the hobbit would surface. He knew that eventually the hobbit would have had to come out, if only to fetch water, but was delighted to see that the delectable creature would be out and about even longer as he performed the mundane task of washing clothing. Soon, it would be his chance. There was no real reason to rush. He wanted to make sure that the hobbit was thoroughly involved in his work so that he could sneak up on him unawares. He worked out an excuse for his presence should he be detected and waited.

Satisfied that he had washed as much of the filth from the shirts as he could he dropped each into a steaming pot of water to rinse the soap from them. He frowned when he saw that the water still turned a dingy brown, but decided that the items were as clean as they would get. He lowered himself slowly from the tree stump that he had been standing on and, after wringing the items as best he could, carried them inside and hung them on the makeshift line.

He picked up another pile and went outside, climbed up on the stump and plunked them into the sudsy water. ‘These must be Tulkas’s’, he thought to himself. The shirts were saturated with grease and spots of food and he had to scrub extra hard to get the shirts resembling any sign of cleanliness.

The sound of snow crunching behind him caused him to whirl around, losing his balance and falling from the stump onto the slushy ground. Sharp pains surged through his ankles and he cried out.

“I am sorry if I surprised you, Master Hobbit. I meant no harm, I assure you.” The man smiled. Frodo rose quickly even though his feet argued otherwise. A glimmer of malice was in the man’s beady eyes and his smile was devoid of friendliness. Frodo tried to calm his rapidly beating heart and mask the fear that was surging through him.

“I am so cold. I wondered if I might sit by your fire for a bit and warm my hands,” the stranger said huskily. He licked his lips slowly as he stared at Frodo.

There was a decidedly evil look to the man and Frodo’s mouth went dry. The man had long greasy hair that hung about his heavily pocked face and when he smiled he revealed rotten stumps of teeth sitting precariously in the man’s bloody gums. A shiver went through Frodo’s body as adrenaline began to pulse through him. “I will fetch my companions. I am sure that they can be of more assistance than I,” he bluffed.

“Oh, I think not, my little friend. You see, I have been watching you for some time and know that your ‘companions’ are gone. I think you and me are gonna get better acquainted without their interferin’ presence,” the man said threateningly.

Frodo turned to run but suddenly found himself face down in the mud and slush, the man lying over his back and breathing hard.

“I been waitin’ for this chance and I mean to take it,” the man growled.

Frodo kicked hard, connecting with the man’s knee. The ruffian howled in pain and anger but held the wriggling hobbit firmly. “You little scum. You ain’t getting away that easy. I’ll teach you a fine lesson for that nasty kick, I will.” He struck Frodo hard across the face causing the hobbit’s ears to ring and momentarily stunning him. The man rose and delivered three swift kicks to Frodo’s middle. The hobbit doubled over as the air whooshed from his lungs, a sharp pain stabbing through his belly.

Frodo looked up at the man, his eyes pleading. “Please, I beg you, don’t do this,” he croaked.

The man laughed cruelly. “Oh I loves it when they beg,” he said slowly, unlacing his pants. The pants were kicked aside and he lunged for the hobbit, yanking Frodo’s breeches down below his knees and pushing him onto his stomach. He shoved Frodo’s face into the mud and pinned the hobbit’s legs under his own. “This is gonna be sweet.” The man raked a grimy hand along Frodo’s backside. “Such pale skin…soft too. I’m gonna enjoy this, I am,” he said huskily.

Frodo squirmed frantically, weeping. The man struck him again and Frodo felt all of the fight drain from him. He stared off towards the tree line and despair filled him. ‘Let me die this time,’ he prayed. ‘I cannot do this again.’ He thought of Estel and Sam and knew in his heart that after this man had raped him he would be so stained and spoiled that no one would be able to endure his presence. ‘Let me die, please,’ he begged again. The shock of what was to come overwhelmed him and he began to feel a strange floating sensation. His mind, unable to endure the assault, had begun to drift until Frodo had separated himself from the cold reality of his situation. His eyes lost their focus as his mind sought another place, another time, which could supplant what was happening to him. He was unaware of a roar of anger followed by a gush of warm blood surging over his backside. He was equally unaware of a sudden weight that stuck his back and then rolled off to his side.

 

The last half-mile of the approach to the rangers stronghold had been the hardest for Estel. Subconsciously he had pressed his heels into Galest’s side, urging the horse to a run. As he broke through the tree line he was greeted with the sight of an intruder hunched over something on the ground outside the cabin. Instinctively he drew his sword and charged towards the person. The man never heard his approach or the war cry that issued from the ranger’s mouth, so intent was he on his attack. Estel swung the huge sword, separating the man’s head from his shoulders, causing a gush of blood to cover his victim. In alarm he saw that it was Frodo as he swung down from the saddle and gathered the seemingly boneless body to him.

“Frodo! Frodo! Speak to me! Are you injured? Did he harm you?” he screamed at the hobbit. Frodo’s eyes stared, unseeing, up at him. Estel’s hands shook as he wiped the hobbit’s face. He planted frantic kisses to each cleaned area. He rose and carrying the limp hobbit in his arms, ran through the doorway. He ducked under the cleaned clothing and placed his bundle gently by the fireplace. “Frodo! Talk to me! Come back to me! You are safe now, safe in my arms. Please don’t leave me,” he begged hysterically.

A thin line of foam lay about the hobbit’s mouth and Estel knew, instinctively, what was to come. He lay the hobbit face down over his lap as the small body convulsed, expelling the stomach contents. He turned the hobbit back over and was dismayed to see that Frodo showed no reaction to the retching. He wiped the hobbit’s face again, alarmed by the far off stare in Frodo’s eyes. He recognized that the hobbit was in shock and, after securely wrapping him in blankets, ran to fetch the washtub. He dumped the water holding the cleaned clothing onto the snow and raced back into the cabin. He filled it with hot water, adding cool until the contents were at temperature. He hurried to the fireplace to gather his loved one. Frodo was shivering violently as he began to strip him of his clothing. A plaintive cry issued from the hobbit’s mouth and tears began to pool in the vacant eyes. Estel sensed the hobbit’s fear. Frodo, not realizing that it was indeed the ranger and not the ruffian that was tearing the clothing from him, had instinctively begun to panic. Estel took a slow breath and forced his shaking hands to move slowly as he gently removed the hobbit’s clothing.

He carried Frodo to the awaiting bath and slowly lowered him into the water. Frodo gasped as the warm water enveloped him then quieted, becoming limp in Estel’s arms. Tears flowed unchecked from Estel’s eyes. ‘If only I had been brave enough to show Frodo how I felt before I left. If only I had come a day sooner, this would never have happened,’ he berated himself as he slowly washed the blood and filth from the small body.

“Oh Frodo, I have returned, don’t you see? You must come back to me. I shall protect you and love you as no other could. You cannot leave me now…not when I have finally accepted my feelings for you. I love you, Frodo.” He bowed his head against the tub and sobbed. He could not live if he lost this gentle being now.

“You … love…me?” Came a whisper.

Estel’s head shot up and he looked into moist, sapphire eyes. “Oh Frodo,” he gasped in relief. He covered the hobbit’s face in gentle kisses…his eyes, his nose until finally, he hovered above the soft mouth. He leaned slowly into the hobbit, capturing the lips within his own. The kiss became one of hunger and Frodo closed his eyes as he reveled in the feel of Estel’s mouth. Frodo’s lips parted and Estel flicked his tongue over the hobbit’s lower lip. “I love you. I love you. I cannot bear life without you,” Estel gasped after he slowly broke the kiss.

He continued to cover the hobbit in gentle caresses as he slowly lifted him from the bath and carried him to the bed. He dried his love with a soft towel and slowly ran his hand down the length of the small body.

Frodo groaned in appreciation. Estel’s hand stopped moving suddenly and Frodo’s eyes opened to see why. “Don’t stop, Estel,” he said softly.

“He injured you,” he growled as he looked at the bruises on Frodo’s midsection. “I should have used my sword to show him how it *feels* to be raped,” he said angrily. He tenderly touched the already blackening bruises. “Are you in pain?”

“No, I feel nothing except your touch,” Frodo murmured with a tiny smile.

Estel smiled openly as he thought to himself, ‘I could have lost him…my life having been inexplicably changed forever.’ He placed a kiss on the bruise and then pulled back slightly. “It is swollen,” he said, surveying the stomach.

“Tulkas is a wonderful cook. That is my hobbity paunch that I have grown in your absence,” Frodo reassured.

Estel smiled. “He is an excellent cook. You obviously have been well fed,” he said chuckling. He looked at the hobbit lovingly and then resumed his examination. Frodo was acutely aware that this was not the touch of a healer, but of a lover and closed his eyes, losing himself in Estel’s tender caress. Heat began to fill him and before long he was fully aroused. He gasped in wonder as he felt his organ surrounded by a warm moistness. Estel had hungrily taken Frodo’s penis into his mouth, sucking in the sack as well, and was emitting small groans of pleasure. The ranger ran his tongue over the weeping slit as his mouth tightened on the hardened organ, moving up and down in urgent tugs. His eyes rolled up into his head as he circled his arms under Frodo’s legs and lower back and with a growl, pulled the hobbit’s hardness fully to him. He was like a man possessed as he fairly attacked the hobbit, sucking and slurping in desperate need. Frodo almost wept as his organ pulsed rhythmically with each up and down motion of the ranger’s head. He had never experienced anything like this and could feel himself rapidly approaching climax.

Estel slowly inserted two fingers into Frodo’s rectum, raking them lightly over the bud-like gland inside. Frodo arched upwards and cried out loudly. The ranger knew this was not a cry of pain, but of surprised delight and continued to press upon the pleasure spot. Frodo bucked uncontrollably and with a scream he came, barely on the cusp of consciousness, in a powerful climax. Estel swallowed quickly, his face registering a look of ecstasy. Frodo collapsed back onto the bed as Estel continued to caress the still erect organ. Aftershocks rippled through the hobbit as the ranger licked at the residue hungrily.

Estel gazed into the gentle face of his beloved and Frodo smiled tiredly back at him. He eyed the man’s groin longingly. A huge bulge strained at the seams of Estel’s leggings. He looked long into the man’s eyes as Estel slowly ran his thumb along Frodo’s cheek.

“Estel, will you make love to me?” he asked softly.

The ranger smiled sadly. “I do not think that is wise, dear one. I will not cause you pain…not for anything in Middle Earth, nor subject you to the mental anguish you could experience were I to do as you ask.”

Frodo frowned slightly. “I think it would cause me more anguish were you not to do this.” Estel looked at him in alarm.

“I need you to love me. I need to feel what it is like to be loved, not simply taken. Please, Estel. Love me?” Frodo’s eyes were pleading and Estel gently kissed him. He rose slowly and removed his clothing, sliding in under the blanket and pulling the warm body close to his own.

“I *do* love you, Frodo. And if this is truly what you wish you should know that I desire it as well,” he whispered. As he kissed the hobbit slowly, Frodo could feel stirrings of passion rekindling. Estel tenderly ran his hands over Frodo’s back and down until he cupped Frodo’s bottom. He gently inserted a finger and raked it over the tiny gland that lay secreted inside. Frodo cried out in pleasure.

“Oh, what you do to me. Again… please. I have never felt anything like this,” Frodo rasped.

“You mean…this?” Estel said playfully and pressed lightly down on the bud.

“Oh! Yes… that!” Frodo cried.

Estel inserted another finger, stretching the opening and pressing down, once again, onto the gland. Frodo cried out again, bucking upwards towards the ranger’s hand. Estel closed his eyes and took a calming breath, striving to maintain his restraint. It would be too easy to plunge into the hobbit and lose himself to passion, causing his lover pain in the process. He inserted a third finger, moved it about, caressing the gland yet again. Frodo groaned loudly and bucked.

“No more teasing, Estel. I need you to make love to me now,” Frodo panted. A small whimper followed the demand and Estel could see that his new lover was ready.

He slowly positioned himself over the hobbit and began to enter the opening. Frodo’s face pinched in pain at the intrusion and Estel forced himself to stop. “I am hurting you. I cannot do this,” he panted.

“I love you, Estel,” Frodo said softly and then leaning forward, pushed himself down onto the ranger’s penis. Frodo gasped in surprise but soon the pain passed as the man’s organ grazed the gland. Frodo groaned in pleasure as he lavished light kisses over the upturned face of his ranger. Their bodies formed a V with Frodo facing the man who grunted as he began to plunge into the yielding body. Estel groaned, knowing that he would not have been able to stop their lovemaking now even if Frodo were to beg him.

Estel held the hobbit tightly about the back of the hips and pumped frantically, his body screaming for completion, and lost in the oblivion of the moment. Frodo panted harshly as he thrust his body down with violent force. “Deeper! Deeper!” he cried. Estel obliged, throwing the hobbit onto his back and plunging to the hilt, his sac slapping rhythmically against the hobbit as he pumped furiously. Then he was crashing over the edge, feeling the surge of fluid as it shot into the hobbit, climaxing with a force he had never experienced before. His cries mingled with Frodo’s own as the hobbit sprayed the ranger’s stomach with his own seed.

Estel slumped over Frodo, still planted deep within the hobbit. He slowly removed his organ and Frodo moaned. “Did I hurt you, Frodo?” Estel asked worriedly.

Frodo smiled. “No, I feel wonderful,” he murmured sleepily. Estel smiled softly and lay down next to his love.

“You are mine, Frodo. I claim you. You are now mine,” Estel whispered, his eyes drifting closed as he slipped into a deep sleep.

“Yours. I am only yours,” Frodo murmured sleepily. A small smile lit his lips as he slumbered.

He dreamed. The faceless man he had seen before appeared on the other side of the meadow and he felt himself running, laughing, towards the outstretched arms. The air was clean and the scent of flowers surrounded him as the man captured him and twirled him about. Estel’s face smiled lovingly into his own and the no longer faceless stranger bestowed a gentle kiss to his upturned face. He slept, a contended smile upon his lips.

TBC


	11. Partings

He was running, frantically looking for any place in which to secrete himself. They were gaining; right behind him, and he knew he would soon be in their grasp. Frodo realized, on some level, that it was only a horrible nightmare, one that he had had each time he closed his eyes. He struggled, trying to force his sleeping body to awaken and escape what was to come. He whimpered, pulling his legs to his chest, whispering helplessly to the darkened room “No, no…not again.” Tears streamed from his eyes, running down his sleeping face only to puddle in his ears and drift onto the pillow. Any moment now they would attack. It was the way it always was. The nightmare never changed. They would leer down at him as they kicked, finally taking what they wanted. The tree limb…there was always the tree limb that knocked him onto his back. Perhaps, if he could avoid hitting it this time, he could escape! “Don’t look back,” he murmured desperately - praying he could avoid the inevitable, desperate to evade capture. He would focus all his energy on looking ahead. He wouldn’t look back…

He stumbled, sprawling in the mud. He had tripped over an especially large rock. 'That hadn’t happened before,’ he thought. Jagged sobs tore from his chest as he rolled, helplessly onto his back. The rain poured down onto his upturned face as two filthy figures leaned over him.

“Oy, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” Wulf said nastily, licking his lips as he ogled the hobbit. Gant laughed raucously as they tied the hobbit up and threw him over Wulf’s shoulder. Suddenly, he was at the makeshift camp. He groaned. “No... no, please”, knowing what was to come.  
They reappeared as if by magic, Wulf pounced on him, attacking with sheer brutality. Frodo screamed loud and hard as pain ripped through his abdomen. “Please stop!” he cried, but this only seemed to fuel Wulf’s frenzied actions. Then he was being kicked, over and over again, until finally, thankfully, Frodo’s vision narrowed and all faded to black.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Estel walked slowly across from the small stable to the cabin. the snow continued to fall heavily, coating his hair and clothing. He had risen sometime after midnight, kissed Frodo on his curly crown, and dressed silently. He needed to take care of the filth that had attacked the hobbit earlier, and he meant to do it while Frodo was asleep. He placed his pack on the ground and crossed to the headless corpse. He dragged it away from the living area and dumped it some distance from the cabin. He retrieved the head, rolled it over in his hands, and stared down at the rheumy, unseeing eyes. His face twisted into one of hatred and loathing before he took it by the hair and slung it angrily towards the brush. He wiped his hands in the snow, slung his pack back over his shoulder and continued walking towards the small stable. He slowly unsaddled the horse, wiped her down and then re-saddled her. He removed the items he had purchased for Frodo then secured his pack to the back of the saddle. Galest nickered softly as if to say, ‘What? Where are we bound to now?’ Estel produced a carrot and offered it to the horse. She chuffed happily, indicating that all was forgiven. The man smiled affectionately as he scratched the animal under her mane. He gathered his items and left the shack.

As he walked, he sniffed the frozen air, looking about the yard. Nothing moved and the air was crisp, clean and very, very cold. He shifted the packages as he opened the door and stomped his feet before entering. He crossed quietly to the kitchen, setting the pickled vegetables and bag of mushrooms onto the table. He had forgotten about them until he had gone to check on the horse and found her waiting patiently for him in the stable. He hoped the food was still edible and decided that only a hobbit would know for sure. A shrill scream rent the air, causing the hair to rise on the back of the ranger’s neck. The mushrooms scattered, unheeded, across the table as he ran to the door of the room. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the glow of the banked fire and the snow outside the window. He could hear Frodo’s panicked breathing, punctuated by the hobbit’s desperate sobs and cries for mercy. Estel hurriedly crossed back to the central table to retrieve the lantern. He lowered the wick, not wanting to startle the hobbit, and surveyed the room for anything that might have posed a danger to his friend. Seeing that the room was free of intruders, he began to walk slowly towards the bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frodo’s eyes flew open and he looked hurriedly around the room. ‘This cannot be…this is not what happened,’ he thought to himself. ‘I was in the camp…on the cold earth.’He touched the nightshirt, the bed and then the coverlet, trying to understand where he was. His eyes were wide, blue replaced by black as his pupils dilated. His eyes darted about the room but there were no signs of Wulf or Gant. Looking to his right he could see a faint light bobbing towards him. He frantically searched the room looking for any place to hide, finally spying a narrow crevice between a bookshelf and the doorway. He launched himself from the bed. On the table beside the bed lay a curved knife. He grabbed it by the blade unmindful of the gash it left in his palm as adrenaline pulsed through him.*

He dove for the crevice, squeezing behind the bookcase just as the light appeared in the doorway. He peered carefully around the edge and a small gasp escaped his lips. A man, a very tall man, stood silhouetted against the weak back-light. The lantern cast an eerie glow upward, making the man’s eyes all but disappear into the black holes of his skull.

“Frodo? It’s all right…it's only a nightmare, my love. Nothing will harm you, I promise. Come out, please,” Estel whispered as his eyes scanned the room. Not seeing the hobbit in the bed and knowing that Frodo had not slipped passed him, he looked for any place that a hobbit could hide. He raised the wick on the lantern a little more and walked slowly towards the bed. A puddle of bright red blood caught his eye and his mouth went dry. He moved quickly around the room searching, now more concerned for Frodo’s physical well being than anything else. His eyes darted towards the table where he had left the curved dagger. His heart began to thump rapidly when he saw that the weapon was missing. He forgot his previous calming timber and called more forcefully, “Frodo, sweetheart, you’re injured. Please let me tend your wound. It is I… Estel, and I love you.”

Frodo felt the familiar odd sensation, a surreal other worldliness, that told him that he was still trapped in the land of dreams. His hands trembled as he clutched the dagger tightly to his chest. Blood ran down his arm and onto his nightshirt as he watched the man conduct his search of the room, turning finally towards the bookcase and Frodo’s sanctuary. The man bore no similarities to Wulf or Gant. He was lean and moved with a litheness the ruffians could not have hoped to have. His face was rugged but his eyes spoke of a gentleness and concern that Frodo had not felt in the usual dream. ‘He said he loved me,’ Frodo mused. ‘No…it is only a dream, only a dream, only a dream…’ he began to chant softly to himself.

The man began to move towards the bookcase and Frodo drew further back against the wall in fear, his breath coming in ragged pants as he searched for some means of escape. The bookcase began to slowly move away from the wall, revealing the tall, scraggly figure. The man slowly bent down on one knee and looked at him tenderly. He reached slowly into the hidey hole and grasped the hobbit’s arm. Frodo gasped and tried to pull away, the dagger forgotten as he clutched it desperately within his hand. The blood flowed freely from the wound and Estel grimaced as his glance fell on the wound. “It is only me, Frodo. I love you. Nothing will ever harm you again. You are only dreaming. Come to me, my love. Let me care for you,” Estel said, his voice trembling.

Frodo’s eyes blinked. Love. Yes love. His eyes fluttered as his mind slowly awoke. He looked at Estel, confusion writ upon his face. “Estel? Wha’…” he began.

Strong arms suddenly engulfed him and he was being carried to the bed. Estel lay him down as he covered the hobbit’s face in tender kisses. He gently pried Frodo’s hand open and removed the dagger. He hissed as he looked at Frodo’s palm and then began to tenderly clean the hand, scrutinizing the long, deep gash across the hobbit’s lifeline. “Oh, Frodo…” he sighed.

“Estel…I don’t understand. What happened? How did I get injured?” Frodo began, his blue eyes filling with tears as he looked helplessly up at the ranger.

“You were dreaming, sweetheart. I wasn’t there for you,” Estel said slowly, berating himself for leaving the hobbit alone in the dark. “I am sorry, Frodo. I am sorry I left you to fight your demons on your own.” Tears filled the ranger’s eyes and Frodo reached out touching the man’s face tenderly.

“You are not to blame, Estel. I am sorry if I frightened you,” Frodo said sympathetically.

Estel smiled at the thought of this small creature comforting him when it should have been the other way around. He clasped the other hand and kissed it. “Your hand…it will need to be stitched. I need to gather my things. I will only be gone a moment.” Frodo nodded, smiling … remembering that this man had declared his love for him. He felt a rush of affection towards his ranger and pulled him down into a warm kiss.

Estel smiled as he rose and left the room. He returned with a small satchel and began to withdraw the necessary implements. He wiped Frodo’s hand tenderly with the clear liquid he had used before when he had given Frodo his massage. Frodo hissed at the sensation of hundreds of angry bees attacking his palm. Estel looked at him apologetically as he dried the wound. He thread a small, curved holder and began to make small, individually looped stitches along the gash, pulling the skin together tightly as he went. Frodo jerked at each stitch made as he tried to concentrate on Estel’s endless chatter, the ranger’s attempt at diverting his attention.

At last the gash was sealed and Estel washed it once again in the clear, pungent liquid. The ranger withdrew gauze from the satchel and slowly began to wind it about Frodo’s hand. He tied it in place, examined his work and sighed in satisfaction.

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears as his hand throbbed. “When will they pass, Estel?” He said quietly. Estel looked at him in confusion. “When will I find rest from these dreams? When will Wulf and Gant finally fade from my memory?” he explained.

Estel pulled the hobbit to his chest and listened helplessly, as his friend sobbed quietly. “They will pass, Frodo. It may take some time but eventually they will pass. I love you, Frodo, and that love will soon replace the fear that they left inside you. You will be whole once again, I promise,” the ranger crooned softly.  
At last Frodo’s tears abated and the ranger rose, holding the hobbit close to his chest with one arm as he began to strip the bloodied bedding with the other. He found a clean, if a bit tattered, blanket and spread it over the bed then settled Frodo tenderly back onto the pillow. Frodo’s brow creased as he watched the man, a nagging question coming to the fore. “Where were you, Estel? Why were you not in bed?” he asked.

Estel grimaced, interpreting the question as an accusation. Frodo touched his arm and smiled.  
“I do not blame you, Estel, I only wish to know where you were,” the hobbit explained.

Estel smiled warmly, then remembering where he had been and what he had been doing, looked away quickly.

Frodo frowned. “What are you keeping from me?”

Estel sighed and rose. He looked lovingly down at Frodo. “I am taking you back to the Shire today, Frodo,” he said quietly.

Frodo’s mouth dropped open as he looked up at the ranger in surprise. “But…why? Why…why can’t I stay here with you?” A needle of doubt began to worm itself into his heart. What if this man really didn’t want him? Suddenly, he was certain, without a doubt, that Estel had accepted the fact that ‘Mad Baggins’ was tainted after all. Frodo felt his heart break and despair flood over him knowing that Estel had changed his mind about there being any future for them together. He was being returned to the Shire to be shunned and tormented, but this time it would not be men but his own race that would be the torturers. Tears filled his eyes and he wished more than anything, at that moment, to disappear forever from the face of Middle Earth.

His voice trembled as he asked in a whisper, “You … you don’t want me?”

Estel drew back, shocked by the bleak emptiness mixed with sad acceptance that had replaced the shine of love in Frodo’s eyes. ‘It will take many tellings to at last convince him of how I feel,’ he thought to himself. He pulled Frodo tightly to his chest just as the first tears were brushed impatiently away by the hobbit. “I love you,” Estel whispered into Frodo’s ear. “I love you, as I have never loved another. I love you more than my own life, Frodo, and would gladly die for you at the first word from any foe.” He leaned back and looked into Frodo’s damp face. The hobbit looked doubtfully up at him.

“Then why? Why are you going to leave me? What have I done, or said, or…?”

“Nothing. You have done nothing wrong, Frodo. I fear for your safety after what happened yesterday morning,” the ranger gestured disdainfully towards the front of the cabin. “I cannot protect you from this evil and rid the Shire of these vermin if you are with me,” he explained.

Frodo made as if to argue but Estel silenced him with a finger to his lips. The hobbit still looked confused. “These men, for whatever reason, are entering the Shire enforce. They must be stopped, either killed or delivered to the authorities, before more hobbits come to harm.”

Frodo’s eyes opened wide in fear as he imagined those he loved being crushed, as he had been, by the brutality of the men. “I could help you. I could come with you and fix your meals and,” he smiled sweetly, “keep you warm at night.” He looked pleadingly into the loving gray eyes.

Estel shook his head sadly. “No, my love, you do not understand.” He heaved a great sigh. “Frodo, I would be so concerned about your safety that I would be ineffective. I need all of my attentions focused on the capture of these men…all of my attention. I will be sleeping little and journeying many leagues, there will be no time for hot meals.” He swallowed hard as he looked down into Frodo’s pleading eyes. “I would not be able to go on if anything happened to you,” he whispered, caressing the hobbit’s cheek. “I would not want to,” he continued in a hushed voice. “You would be my sole concern and if I am distracted by my love for you it could mean the end of both our lives.” He felt a lump in his throat, a sudden image of Elu dying in his arms as his friend looked up at him, an expression of profound sadness and regret in his eyes, before they had closed for the last time.

Frodo gazed into the gray eyes that were now focused on a long distant memory, the man’s face twisted in pain. He reached up and lay his hand against the man’s cheek. Estel’s eyes closed, the look of pain replaced by one of devotion as he leaned into the touch.

“Whom do you grieve for, Estel?” he asked with concern.

Estel looked down at him for a long time before he spoke. “It was long ago,” Estel said slowly, his gaze becoming distant as he was transported back to his youth. “I…I had a friend…” he looked at Frodo. There were tears in Estel’s eyes. “We were brothers at heart, inseparable, our souls bound to each other ere the first moment we met.”

Frodo touched his arm lovingly. “Were you…were you lovers?” Frodo’s voice caught, the thought of Estel loving another filled Frodo with a guilty unease.

Estel smiled as he darted a glance at Frodo. He pulled Frodo closer and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “No, my love, you are the first and my only love. Elu and I were kindred spirits and yes, there was love, but not as you and I share.” He smiled warmly at the hobbit, placing a tender kiss on Frodo’s trembling lips. Frodo relaxed as the ranger’s warm lips touched his own, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue over the man’s teeth.

Estel withdrew slowly, capturing Frodo’s lower lip gently between his teeth. Frodo’s eyes were closed, his face flushed and at peace by the ranger’s words. Estel smiled, still amazed that this fascinating being was his. Frodo’s eyes crept open and Estel felt a jolt of desire as he saw the kindled passion and raw need in the blue pools.

Frodo slowly regained his composure and moved slightly away, trying to force his body to cool. Now was not the time. He needed to hear what had so grieved, and shaped his Estel, so long ago.

His control restored, Estel was, once again, drawn back to the terrible memory of Elu’s fate. His mouth became a tight line. “It was my own carelessness that caused Elu’s death,” he said quietly. Frodo frowned but did not interrupt. “We were patrolling the southern boundary of the Shire. Elu and I were riding ahead of the others, laughing and lost in conversation, not listening to the sound of the trees around us as we should have been. We were ambushed by a roaming band of orcs. They quickly subdued Elu and myself. The remaining members of our group were more prepared than we and rebuked the attack quickly, killing the vermin, but not before Elu was dealt a mortal blow from an orc’s arrow.”

Tears streamed, unchecked, down Estel’s cheeks as he clutched convulsively at Frodo, pulling him against his chest with such strength that the breath was very nearly squeezed from the hobbit. “I should have been more attentive to my surroundings. If…if I had only focused my eyes and ears forward…” His voice faltered.

“You were not to blame, Estel. You do not know if events would have occurred differently. Elu would not have you torment yourself so, I am certain of it. If he was indeed your brother and loved you, I feel he would want you to be at peace and live your life for the both of you,” Frodo said softly.

Estel smiled, his eyes still filled with grief. “Perhaps, dear one. But it is a hard thing to grant oneself forgiveness…harder than forgiving another. I…I miss him so. Each time I look at Tilion I feel my heart break. He is so like his father, both in feature and skill. I love him, as I would my own son, yet cannot bear to be near him, it is to painful.”

Frodo had suspected as much when he had witnessed Estel’s aloof and gruff manner towards the young ranger. “He loves you, Estel, as he would a father. I think he feels he has somehow disappointed you because of how you act towards him. Perhaps, if you embrace him as your own, you can fill the emptiness left by Elu’s passing. I think that Elu would be more at peace if you would do this.”

Estel had never considered this. “I know I have been hard on Tilion…perhaps even harder than I would have been on another apprentice. Perhaps…perhaps it is not yet to late. Elu would not have wanted me to forsake his son. I will explain my actions to Tilion, and why I have been so neglectful.”

“You may be many things, my dear ranger, but neglectful is not one of them. Let us say …distracted.” Frodo smiled. “I have a feeling Tilion will not only be relieved that he has not disappointed you but also that there is a reason why you have withheld your affections.  
Estel smiled lovingly at Frodo. “Your gentle, sweet spirit shines all around you, Frodo. Without your suggestion I would have eventually lost one of my best men because I was haunted by the past. Enough of this. I am happy now and that is all that matters. We need to rise and gather our things, Frodo. We should depart before dawn.”

Frodo looked sadly up at him as he wound his arms about Estel’s neck. “So soon? Could I not entice you to come back to bed, Estel? There are still many hours before dawn. I would like as much time with you as possible,” Frodo whispered. He pulled the man down to him and pressed his lips hungrily to the man’s. Estel returned the kiss with equal fervor. He pulled back slowly and gazed into the deep blue eyes. Frodo smiled seductively into his face.

“Perhaps I have been rather hasty rising so soon. Err…getting up …uh…I mean...waking… waking so early,” Estel stammered, coloring. Frodo giggled up at him. He lowered the wick with shaking hands, stripped hurriedly and slipped beneath the coverlet.

He pulled the nightshirt quickly up and over Frodo’s head, nibbling on the hobbit’s neck as he did so. Frodo pulled Estel down on top of him, twining his legs around the man’s torso. His body was already bucking uncontrollably against the man’s as he moaned wantonly. Estel grinned.

“Slowly, my love. I want to touch each and every place on your beautiful body and it would not do to have ourselves spent too soon.” Frodo groaned, his body quivering with pent up sexual energy. Estel began to move his hand lightly over the hobbit’s body. Frodo cried out in surprise when Estel touched his ribs, causing the ranger to pull back in alarm. “Have I hurt you, Frodo?” he asked in concern.

“It is nothing, please do not stop,” Frodo whispered. Estel could hear the pain in the hobbit’s voice and reached for the lantern. Frodo groaned in frustration. “Truly, Estel, I am fine. Please, I will explode if you do not see to my other needs,” he added impatiently.

Estel chuckled. “Soon, my love. I have marked my place and I promise to return to it in all due haste. But first I wish to examine you more closely. No matter how much you protest, a cry of pain is still a cry of pain, and needs to be seen to first.” He brought the lantern closer and drew in a breath as he saw the damage that had been inflicted earlier by the ruffian. The area surrounding Frodo’s ribcage was swollen and a large bruise covered the whole left side of the hobbit’s torso. “I should have examined this earlier,” the ranger said quietly, quickly taking on the clinical mien of healer.

“It is nothing, Estel…I,” Frodo began. He cried out as Estel gently placed his hand to his side, pressing lightly.

“Indeed…nothing. I see that clearly,” Estel said sarcastically. “I think a poultice might make the swelling lessen,” he mused to himself.

“Not just yet, my ranger. I think, perhaps, if you continue your previous attentions I will heal much faster,” Frodo murmured amorously.

“Perhaps. But first I will finish my examination, Master Hobbit.” Frodo grunted his displeasure. Estel continued to palpate along Frodo’s left side. The hobbit squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lower lip in an effort to stop the cries that threatened to escape. Estel watched his face closely, feeling a deep respect for the bravery of the hobbit. “Does this hurt, Frodo?” He pressed down gently along Frodo’s swollen abdomen.

“Only a little. Not as bad as the rest,” Frodo gasped. A thin sheen of perspiration had broken out on his lip and forehead.

“Hmm…this is very swollen,” the ranger said contemplatively. “Are you certain it does not hurt?”

“Yes, my stomach seems to have escaped the full force of the ruffian’s kick,” Frodo said quietly.

“Yet it is swollen. I fear internal injuries may have been inflicted. Still, if it does not hurt…Frodo, you are being honest with me…it doesn’t hurt? To withhold information would be unwise, surely you realize that.”

Frodo looked up at him, a glint of anger in his eyes. “Estel, it does not hurt there, I cannot be more clear on this than I have been. I am not being dishonest. It hurts almost everywhere else but my hobbity paunch is fine!”

Estel grinned. He continued to palpate the area in question. “It is distended and firm, not what you would expect from a hobbity paunch,” he stated playfully.

“That may be, Master Ranger, but that is what it is and I’ll kindly ask you to stop poking around and make love to me this instant,” Frodo said, now completely exasperated.

Estel broke into loud laughter, his hand leaving the offended area and slowly moving its way down Frodo’s other side to his hip. Frodo’s eyes slowly closed and he groaned at the touch. “Yes, I should examine the rest of you as well, I think,” the ranger said huskily. He sank down until his upper body lay full over Frodo’s, his weight resting on his arms as his hand connected with yet another very hard and swollen area of Frodo’s anatomy.

Frodo cried out and lurched upwards, driving his shaft up and down within Estel’s fist. “Not so fast, Master Hobbit. There is one last area that needs my attentions.” He slowly inserted a finger into Frodo’s opening and felt around until he located what he had been searching for. He pressed down on the gland and Frodo lurched upwards, crying out his name.

“Yes, there! Don’t stop, Estel, touch me again, please!” Frodo cried. His movements became frenzied as he placed his hands on the man’s hips and pulled desperately at him. He bucked up against the man’s penis and Estel sucked in a surprised breath.

“Oh, Frodo, what you do to me,” Estel murmured into the hobbit’s ear. He brought his mouth down to Frodo’s and hungrily devoured the hobbit’s lips. Frodo looped his arms about the ranger’s neck and greedily yielded to him as he continued to grind against his lover. Two fingers were inserted into the canal and Estel watched Frodo as the hobbit’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Frodo felt suddenly faint as Estel pressed down on the pleasure spot with both fingers. He swung his head back and forth on the pillow, whimpering and calling out Estel’s name repeatedly. He twisted suddenly, in Estel’s arms until he was on his stomach. He rose hastily to his arms and knees and presented his buttocks to the surprised ranger. “Take me now, Estel… please. I am ready…please.

Estel groaned and closed his eyes at the sight of this very desirable spectacle and hastily placed his third finger in the hobbit’s opening. Hurriedly he moved the fingers to and fro, stretching and preparing Frodo, hoping that he would not come all over the hobbit’s backside instead of deep inside the tempting body. Frodo was nearly sobbing as he rocked back against the man’s hand and arched his neck backwards.

Estel rose onto his knees and placed his penis against the opening, pushing slowly inside. Frodo cried out again; not a cry of pain but a cry of pure, wanton lust. He pushed himself down, impaling himself on the ranger, and began to rock feverishly back and forth. His eyes were closed, a look of utter concentration on his features as he climbed desperately towards his climax.

Estel fought for control, not wanting to come too soon but almost undone by the tight, warm flesh that encased his member.

“Faster, Estel, faster,” Frodo begged. Estel groaned loudly as he increased his pace. Frodo’s erection began weeping a continuous stream of pre-cum as Estel’s penis slipped back and forth over the sensitive gland. ‘We are bound, body and soul, I wish this to never stop,’ Frodo thought desperately to himself. “Never stop, never leave me,” he cried out. “Hard…I need you to…harder, please Estel, harder!” He screamed.

Estel pumped furiously, nearly lifting the hobbit from the bed with the force of his thrusts. Still Frodo begged for more, lunging backwards until Estel’s sac slammed into the pale bottom. Estel drove feverishly into Frodo. He held the hobbit to him by the hips, thrusting faster and faster, not wanting it to end but helpless to control himself. He came, filling Frodo again and again, just as Frodo’s seed sprayed out over the blanket. They both arched backwards, crying in unison with the culmination of the coupling. Estel continued to lunge forward until he could feel the aftershocks in Frodo’s body. Frodo slumped over his forearm, spent. They remained joined as Estel sank down to the bed and fell to his side, spooning together onto the blanket. One of his arms snaked out and drew the coverlet up over their bodies.

He started to withdraw, but Frodo stopped him with a word. “No…I…I wish to stay like this, Estel. Bound to you, if it is all right,” he said quietly.

Estel smiled and nuzzled the nape of Frodo’s tangle of curls. “I can think of nothing I would like more, my love. I am bound to you and you to me, forever. Now sleep, I wish to stay thus for as long as we can.” Frodo sank back against him, pushing Estel even further inside. The ranger jerked as his sensitive organ’s nerves responded to the touch, but then pushed himself to the hilt into his love. Frodo groaned as his eyes closed slowly. Estel curled himself protectively around the hobbit and slipped into a doze.

Frodo lay awake for some time. He could tell by Estel’s slow breathing that the ranger slept and he knew that he needed to as well. But worry niggled at him and tears silently began to slip down his cheeks. “Don’t leave me, Estel, please…I do not believe I could live without you,” he cried softly. After a time his sobs slowed to muffled hiccups and his eyes slipped closed. He slept. Estel pulled the hobbit closer to him. Frodo’s sobs had awoken him, but he had not wanted to disturb the hobbit.

“I will come back to you, Frodo. You are my life… my love,” Estel whispered as he gently kissed Frodo’s neck. Frodo’s features relaxed, a contented sigh escaping his lips, and he dreamed.

TBC

* My thanks to Shirebound and her wonderful fic “Quarantine” from which this idea was borrowed.


	12. To Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story. The setting of ribs is generally, not done. I have used my own creativity for the sake of healing in this chapter.

He did not know what caused him to stir to wakefulness. He stretched drowsily, only then becoming aware of a fullness in his nether regions. Smiling secretively, he remembered the fevered lovemaking of a few hours past and the hardness of Estel’s morning erection still buried deep within his body.

He soon realized that this was not what had awoken him. He laid spread eagle atop his love, the warm fur of the man’s chest soft as down, against his cheek. Estel twitched and moaned in his sleep, locked in the other realm so familiar to all who sleep. Frodo studied the man’s features and frowned. He could see that this was not a pleasant dream, but a nightmare, and he placed his hand lightly on Estel’s cheek, trying to infuse some small amount of comfort into the man’s subconscious.  
~*~*~*~  
He swung the sword feverishly back and forth, cleaving heads from bodies and spearing torsos relentlessly from the horde. He and Frodo had been taken unawares and quickly surrounded by the group. The rowdy bunch had formed a circle around them and he pushed Frodo protectively behind him in a desperate attempt at defending him. He despaired, realizing just how truly outnumbered they were. Nevertheless he was determined to fight to the finish in order to protect his love.

Thrust, swing, thrust…one by one they died by his hand only to have, seemingly, two more join the fray. He was quickly tiring but drove himself on. The men that had encircled them jeered and yelled lewd comments at Frodo… promising what was to come once his champion was slain. Fear filled the hobbit’s pale countenance as he realized the futility of Estel’s actions. He tried to defend himself, using a long knife that was more like a sword to him, which Estel had shoved into his trembling hands at the first sign of danger but he knew, in his heart, they were too greatly outnumbered.

Duck, parry, swing…the sounds of metal on metal assailed the ranger’s ears. Estel shot a quick glance towards the hobbit and alarm knifed through him, seeing his love engaged in a seemingly losing battle with a much larger opponent. The ruffian leered lustfully at the smaller individual just as Frodo rushed forward, burying his knife to the hilt in the man’s thigh. The man howled in pain, dropped his sword and bent, clutching his leg. Frodo rushed in, pulled the knife from the wound and finishing his opponent with a plunge to the man’s throat. He pulled the knife from the corpse, a look of profound distaste on his face.

Estel smiled proudly as he swung at his opponent, cleanly cleaving the man’s head from his torso. Victory was short lived, however, as an arrow was loosed from one of the bystanders. It struck the ranger between the shoulder blades and Estel arched his back convulsively, a shocked look on his face. As he fell to the ground his final sight was of the men surrounding then gleefully attacking Frodo. From somewhere Estel heard someone screaming “NO!” but just as he realized that it had been he, his eyes closed for the last time.  
~*~*~*~  
“NOOOO!” Estel screamed swinging his arm in a wide arc as if he brandished a sword. He squeezed Frodo tightly to his chest, forcing the air from the hobbit’s lungs. Frodo cried out as his cracked ribs and injured side rebelled. The sound of Frodo’s obvious distress severed the nightmare’s hold over the ranger and his eyes flew open in alarm as he was thrust back into the here and now.

He realized his actions immediately and loosed his hold on the smaller body. He rolled Frodo over and gently laid him back onto the bed. He pulled himself slowly from Frodo’s body, generating yet another pained gasp from the hobbit.

Frodo’s eyes were closed, his mouth drawn into a tight line. As Estel watched tears escaped from beneath dark lashes, running down the pale cheeks. Alarmed, Estel began to run his hands over Frodo’s body, coming to rest on the hobbit’s distended abdomen.

“Oh Frodo, what have I done? I am so sorry, my love,” he said tremulously. Frodo’s eyes crept open and a weak smile touched his lips.

“No…no, I am all right, Estel,” he gasped. “It…wasn’t your…fault…please…I’ll be alright, just give me a moment to catch my breath.” With a shaky smile Frodo attempted to steel his features against the pain. Estel frowned, seeing through the guise and began to move his hands over Frodo’s ribs. Frodo moaned as fingers gently prodded his tender rib cage. Estel sighed in relief after finding no additional injuries. He moved his hands to Frodo’s distended mid-section and pushed gently on the tight mound. He looked into Frodo’s face, watching for any sign of distress. Seeing none, he had begun to relax when he suddenly pulled his hand back as if burned. Frodo looked questioningly up at him. Estel hesitated then placed his right hand back onto Frodo’s abdomen.

Frodo, you’re sure that you are uninjured…what about here?” Estel pressed the area above Frodo’s belly button tenderly, causing the hobbit to giggle.

“Stop it, Estel. I am not hurt, just a little ticklish.” The hobbit wriggled slightly away.

Estel smiled. “What about here?” He asked, prodding the hobbit’s lower abdomen, watching the hobbit’s face.

“No, truly. You worry too much,” Frodo said as he began to drop his legs over the side of the bed. Estel’s hand still lay on his abdomen, stopping him in mid-motion.

“It…It *moved*” Estel said softly, his gray eyes widening. He gasped, “There…it did it again!”

The surprised look on Estel’s face was Frodo’s undoing. He burst into gales of laughter causing the ranger to blush and withdraw his hand. “You…you…” More laughter. Tears ran down Frodo’s cheeks as he clutched at his ribs, trying to stop the hysterical chortling, so that he could take a much-needed breath. His ribs throbbed painfully reminding him of his injuries. “Oh…oh…it hurts,” he gasped.

“Then why, my love, are you still laughing?” Estel said with a grin.

“The look on your face was just…priceless. Your eyes got so big and…and your mouth dropped open and, well, you looked so *stunned*! It was just so comical,” he gave one last exhausted snicker.

“I *did* feel something move though, Frodo.” Estel looked earnestly into Frodo’s eyes.

“I am famished. It was only my stomach growling.” Estel looked dubious. Frodo smiled, giving a small giggle. “Really Estel, what else *could* it be?”

Estel smiled. “You’re sure you’re not in pain…you need to let me know if you are, Frodo. It is very important.”

Frodo rolled his eyes. “I’m not, truly.”

“Well then, I’m sure you’re simply hungry.” Estel’s eyes widened. “And I have just the thing for a hungry hobbit!” He jumped up and walked briskly towards the door, capturing his tunic and leggings on the way.

Frodo watched him leave with a smile. He waited until he could hear Estel humming happily in the kitchen then sat up slowly, dropping his legs to the floor. Oh how he hurt. A sob escaped his lips before he could stop it as he tried to rise, failed, and then tried again. The pain was unbearable. He swore he could actually *feel* the edges of the broken ribs as they ground together. He took several shallow breaths in through his nose, exhaling out through his mouth, as he tried to capture the elusive air. He finally gained his feet but he could not straighten, he swayed precariously then caught himself just in time by placing his hand on a small table.

Whimpering softly to himself, he slowly pulled his torso to its full height. As he rose he used his right hand to pull the blanket up with him and spread it carefully around his body, completely covering is nakedness. His left arm he held tightly across his ribs, wincing. He turned and began to shuffle slowly towards the main room. Before entering he schooled his features so as not to reflect how truly pained he was. ‘I *do not* need tending, like some child,’ he said to himself. ‘This is normal after you are brutally beaten and left for dead.’ He couldn’t help but giggle at his own sarcasm. ‘Oh if only he hadn’t laughed so hard,’ he thought to himself. ‘I hate lying to Estel but I won’t hold him back from his duty. This will heal and before long, I will be good as new,’ he continued to reason as he moved carefully towards the kitchen.

Estel looked up, hearing Frodo’s approach, and stopped slicing the mushrooms. He laid the knife aside and walked quickly around the table. He crouched down in front of his love. “Frodo, you’re very pale. What has happened? Are you in pain?” He reached out to steady the hobbit.

Frodo sidestepped the ranger and smiled weakly. “I’m just a little tired, I think. We *did* have a rather late night after all, and then you made me laugh myself silly.” He smiled again, but Estel did not return the gesture. “Mushrooms! They look lovely,” Frodo said, trying to change the subject. He reached out with a tremulous hand and picked one up that had rolled precariously close to the table’s edge. “You really *do* spoil me, Estel.” He looked up at Estel this time with a genuine smile. “Thank you. However did you know?” He asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Estel’s mouth quirked. “Well, you *are* a hobbit after all.” He reached out and grabbed Frodo’s hand. “You’re trembling, Master Hobbit, are you chilled?” He asked suspiciously. Frodo snatched his hand away, taking several quick, shallow sips of air as he tried to control his breathing.

“No Estel, I am fine,” he replied shortly, turning away.

“I also picked up some of those pickled vegetables you like so much,” Estel went on, watching Frodo as he walked away.

Frodo had his back to him now and was looking at the destruction in the main room. “Thank you, Estel,” he murmured, distractedly. He gazed sadly at the devastation that lay everywhere. Thick sticky mud covered the floor. The wet clothes he had hung so carefully to dry, had been trampled and lay forlornly at his feet. The clothesline hung by one end from the beam, a lone tunic clinging to the rope.

He sighed as he crossed carefully to the front door. He knew what he would see even before he opened it. Tunics, leggings and sheets lay everywhere entrapped in a frozen lake of foamy mud. He felt like crying. All of his hard work, ruined.

Near the over turned tub he had been using to rinse in, the once white snow was a lake of crimson. He swallowed thickly, his stomach rolling over, as memories from only a few short hours earlier, flashed through his mind. He jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Frodo,” a loving voice murmured. “Come away. You do not need to see this.” Frodo turned and Estel closed the door shutting out both the cold and the carnage. He slowly retraced his steps back to the bedroom.

Estel frowned as he followed the hobbit. “Frodo where are you going?”

He watched, his curiosity piqued as Frodo went to one end of the over-sized washtub and, crouching, began to push it towards the doorway. A heavy sheen of perspiration quickly coalesced on his brow and upper lip as his arms shook violently with the strain.

“Frodo, stop!” Estel reached out and pulled the hobbit up but not before he saw the wince of pain and heard a strangled cry as the hobbit gasped. “I think it’s time you lived up to your promise, Master Baggins,” Estel said sternly.

Frodo pulled away, trying to re-wrap the blanket around his torso. “I don’t know what you are referring to,” he said defiantly.

“You’re lying, Frodo. It is becoming apparent that deception is coming easier to you.” Estel growled rising to his full height. Frodo’s face flushed. “You promised that if you were in pain you would tell me, Frodo. You are most assuredly in pain right now…a great deal of pain from the looks of it, yet you have not said anything. Why is that, Frodo?” Estel asked pointedly.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Frodo insisted. “The only *pain* I am feeling is seeing all of my hard work lying in the mud. Now all of these clothes will need to be rewashed and hung to dry before we can leave,” Frodo said sadly.

Estel barked a laugh. “I do not think so, Frodo. We leave as soon as we have taken our morning meal.” He turned and walked back to the kitchen to finish preparing the food.

Frodo’s mouth dropped open and, forgetting his injuries, he stormed after the ranger. “I will not leave this mess for the rest of the men to clean up! I wanted to do something for them by way of repayment for all they have done, and been, to me. This is *not* what I had in mind,” he said forcefully.

Estel put some fat in the pan and added the mushrooms with a sizzle. “That is a noble gesture, Frodo, but we do not have the time to do washing. We need to be underway immediately.” He looked towards the window noting the gray light giving way to pink. “We have already tarried too long. You need to get dressed so we can leave as soon as possible.” He turned the eggs he had been whisking into the cooked mushrooms and stirred the pan’s contents expertly.

“I will not,” Frodo said, his voice low and steady. Estel noticed the change and looked up from his cooking. Frodo’s mouth was set in a determined line, his eyes steely.

‘Stubborn to the end,’ thought Estel smiling inwardly. ‘If he were but three feet taller, he could cause any mans blood to turn to ice with that look.’ “I must insist, Frodo,” Estel said slowly. Please do as I ask.”

The hobbit’s face flushed crimson. “Insist? Insist will you? Who do you think you are? I am not some child for you to command to do your bidding. I am a grown hobbit, despite my appearance otherwise.” Frodo seldom allowed himself to get angry, but this was really too much. He had slaved over that filthy clothing. The men were dear to him, like family, and he felt strongly that they would be disappointed and irritated at him for leaving their home in such disarray.

Estel watched Frodo closely as the hobbit’s voice slowly rose from low and threatening to just short of a shout. At first he had grinned to see the one he cared so deeply for enfolded in the man sized blanket, standing at his full height, giving his foot an emphatic stomp in anger and frustration; his eyes flashing, nostrils flaring and his bow shaped mouth so enticing. But Estel’s grin slowly began to fade as Frodo’s words began to slur slightly and the hobbits breathing became more labored. Frodo’s eyelids began to droop and Estel noticed uneasily as he began to show the first signs of oxygen deprivation. The blue eyes that had been filled with such fire mere moments before began to lose their luster and focus.

Estel’s sharp eye had not missed how Frodo held his left arm close to his body, even though Frodo had tried to disguise the fact with the huge blanket. Estel had let it pass, not wishing to force the hobbit to submit to another examination. Frodo swayed as he struggled to draw breath and regain his balance. He was becoming more hunched over and each time he tried to straighten he would set his jaw and close his eyes as he fought against the pain.

“Frodo,” Estel began worriedly even as he began to close the distance between himself and the hobbit who was on the verge of collapse. Frodo stomped his foot stubbornly, trying to make his point, and caught himself just in time as his legs began to give out on him. Estel chastised himself for ever allowing Frodo to become this upset so soon after being injured.

“Easy Frodo, easy,” he crooned as he slowly knelt to eye level in front of the irate hobbit. “Ssssh…since it is obviously so important to you, we will do whatever you wish. You can even order me around if it will make you feel better.” He smiled disarmingly. Frodo’s rant wound down and he looked at Estel in confusion. He was panting raggedly, his right arm supporting him as he gripped a nearby chair. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat yet still quite pale.

“You…you *do* understand, don’t you, Estel? I know…” He winced as he tried to take in air and Estel reached out towards him, his face creased in worry. “I know you must think I am being rather silly,” Frodo said with a ghost of a smile. “But it *is* important for me to do this. Please say you understand?” Frodo’s eyes were mere slits as he looked pleadingly into Estel’s. “Estel…I…”

“Frodo, let me carry you back to bed. You are not well,” Estel whispered.

“No…no, not ‘til you say you unnerstann,” Frodo slurred.

“I understand,” Estel said quickly, even as he began reaching for the hobbit. Then the hobbit was in his arms and he was walking briskly towards the bedroom. He laid the now unconscious hobbit on the bed and removed the blanket. He could see, on Frodo’s left side, a small lump where two of the ribs had moved out of alignment. He cursed himself for his own stupidity. Allowing Frodo to save face with his adamant refusal for help earlier could well result in the hobbit’s becoming dangerously ill. ‘Blast that nightmare,’ he thought for the twentieth time that morning. He pushed the thought aside as he began to check the rest of Frodo’s injuries, making sure he hadn’t missed anything else. Not finding any further cause for worry he returned his focus to the ribcage.

“I am so sorry, my love, this will be somewhat painful, I’m afraid,” he murmured.

He gently turned Frodo onto his right side and then moved the hobbit’s hips slightly forward while immobilizing his upper torso. The knot on the ribcage began to smooth out as the two ribs were slowly moved back into place. Frodo whimpered and tried to shift his body away from Estel.

“No Frodo, I am almost done then we can let you rest,” Estel whispered as he continued to hold Frodo’s right shoulder steady and pushed the right hip forward. Finally the knot had evened out and Estel ran his fingers gently over the spot to make sure the ribs were aligned properly. When they felt like they were back in position he rolled a small cloth into fourths and tested its thickness. It was still flexible but would offer the much-needed support that Frodo’s left side needed. He laid it along the length of the ribs and began to wind gauze firmly around Frodo’s ribcage, checking periodically to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Tenderly, he moved Frodo to his back, propping his left arm up on a pillow, and covering him with the softest comforter he could find.

He sat back, looking into Frodo’s face, watching him breath. Frodo’s brow had smoothed and he seemed to be breathing easier. He found a flannel and tenderly washed the hobbit’s face free of the sweat. Finally, laying the cloth aside, he took Frodo’s right hand in his and sat, gazing into the perfect face of his lover. Frodo looked tranquil and Estel could not help but run his fingers lightly down the pale cheek. “You have me completely under your spell it would seem, Master Baggins,” he said softly. “I love you with all of my being.”

Frodo’s eyes crept slowly open. “Estel?”

Estel smiled warmly. “Yes, my love?”

“I should wash the clothes before we leave,” Frodo said groggily.

“No need Frodo, I have washed them and they are drying,” Estel said with a grin. ‘Like a dog with a bone,’ he thought to himself.

“Mmmm…Estel?”

“Yes Frodo.”

“It won’t take me long to dress, then we can go,” Frodo whispered drowsily.

Estel grinned widely. “No need, Frodo. There is no longer any urgency to leave. Rest. There will be time enough for evil and battle, but for now just rest,” Estel murmured, running his fingers over Frodo’s forehead, teasing the chestnut curls.

“I love you, Estel,” Frodo said in a tiny voice, his eyes closing. “I think …just rest my eyes.”

“I love you too, Frodo,” Estel whispered. He rose, bending; he placed a kiss on Frodo’s forehead. Frodo sighed contentedly, a trace of a smile gracing his lips. The man re-straightened, picked up the washtub and exited the room. Before closing the door he looked back at the sleeping hobbit. “Sleep well, my Frodo,” he said softly then closed the door. He had work to do. He began to slowly gather the muddy clothing, placing it in the empty tub before heating the water on the stove. His heart felt lighter as he worked and he was helpless to remove the smile from his lips.

TBC


	13. A Healer's Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work of pure fiction. It is obviously AU (Tolkien is rolling over in his grave as we speak) and I have absolutely no rights to his beloved characters, places or the events depicted here, I just get my kicks out of their torture and perversion.
> 
> Herbal cures used herein and in future chapters should not be tried at home unless approved by a licensed medical practitioner. While they are sound, in my mind being a botanist/everything else, they are used in a fictional sense only in this story.

While the laundry soaked, Estel poured himself a cup of tea, served himself some of the lukewarm eggs and mushrooms, and then sat down at the table. He ate slowly as he re-examined their departure plans. Although he had planned on leaving that morning, it had been partially his need to be on the road that had caused Frodo’s relapse. He now felt no rush to leave the sanctuary. Frodo’s health was his #1 concern and it would be a minimum of three days before the hobbit would be strong enough to withstand the arduous journey. Hobbits healed faster than men, a fact that he was grateful for. As he kicked back his chair and pulled out his pipe, he relaxed, accepting the situation, knowing there was simply no other alternative.

He refilled the kettle and put it on the stove. Frodo would be in pain, though less than before, and he planned to dose the hobbit with some willow bark tea and a small amount of poppy extract. Frodo would need his rest so that he could recover. They had a long journey ahead and it would not do to have the hobbit’s ribs paining him any more than normal. As he allowed the tea to steep he washed the clothes. He wasn’t as thorough as Frodo would have been but knew that the men would not notice the difference. The laundry would be cleaner than it had been, regardless. Finally, after the clothing was rinsed and hanging from the line, he focused his attention on the tea. He placed an ample dollop of honey into the mug, and poured the tea over it, adding four drops of the poppy juice to the cup. He had adjusted the dose to compensate for Frodo’s size and then subtracted two drops. He did not want to overdose the hobbit or bring on respiratory failure due to his injuries. He tasted the tea, grimaced, and added more honey.

He went to the bedroom and looked in. Frodo still slept but now his brow was creased as if he were in pain. Estel lit a candle and set the cup down. Frodo’s eyes slowly opened and the ranger sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the hobbit.

“How do you feel, Frodo?”

“Hurt. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter now. You should feel better tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain, Frodo?”

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears and he looked away. “I am sorry I lied, Estel, but I didn’t want you to change your plans on my account. Now I have delayed you and, because of me, other hobbits may suffer as I did.”

Estel took his hand. “You need to heal. The journey will be hard enough, harder still if you are feeling your injuries. It is not your fault, but mine, that you suffer. It was wrong to rush your recovery. Fear not, the others are on patrol and all will be well with the Shire.”

Frodo closed his eyes and sighed. “I am a bit fatigued. I am sure I will be ready to leave by morning though,” he said as he attempted to move up into a sitting position on the pillow.

Estel smiled a little, placing another pillow behind Frodo’s back and gently shifting the hobbit so that he was more upright. “We will not leave for three more days, Frodo. You should take what rest you can and concentrate on healing.”

Frodo’s eyes flew open. “Three days!! No, absolutely not! I will not be responsible for…” he struggled against the blankets as he tried to rise from the bed, panting from the effort.

Estel pushed him gently back against the pillows. “Three days, Frodo,” he said gruffly. “Even now, after this small outburst, you are pale, sweating and breathing erratically. I will not argue with you. You must accept my decision on this, Frodo. You need rest. If, after three days, you are healing well, only then shall we leave. Only then, Frodo. If I judge you to need more time then we will remain here until you are ready.”

Frodo’s mouth opened and closed comically. “But…”

Estel only shook his head. “I think you will find I can be equally stubborn when I want to be, Master Baggins.” He looked Frodo over carefully. ’He is breathing much too fast and he is still far too pale,’ he thought with alarm.

Frodo’s eyes became glassy as he continued to take short, shallow breaths.

“Breathe in slowly through your nose and out through your mouth, Frodo,” Estel said softly. “Frodo, look at me. Do as I do,” Estel said sternly. He held Frodo’s face between his hands locking his eyes with the hobbit’s. He demonstrated by taking a long full breath through his nose then slowly exhaling through his mouth. Frodo’s face was clammy, his eyes slowly beginning to lose their focus, as he struggled for each small breath. Estel shook him and tapped his face.

Frodo opened his eyes and looked into Estel’s. He smiled wanly. “You…have…lovely…eyes, Estel,” he slurred.

Estel smiled a little, “You do too, my hobbit. But you need to concentrate. Look at me.” He slipped one hand down to Frodo’s pulse point on the hobbit’s neck and wasn’t surprised to feel the small heart racing. “Slow, full breaths in and then slowly release them. No … watch me.” Again he demonstrated. He placed his hand lightly on Frodo’s chest and if it looked like Frodo was drifting away again, he would tap the hobbit’s breastbone.

“It hurts,” Frodo complained irritably. “It…it hurts to take deep breaths, Estel.”

“I know Frodo, but shallow breaths will not use your lungs full capacity or give you enough air to breathe. Do it slowly and it should be easier.”

Frodo closed his eyes, his forehead furrowing in concentration as he inhaled through his nose then exhaled slowly. Relief washed over Estel as he felt Frodo’s pulse gradually slow to normal.

“Good. Good…does it still hurt?”

“Yes, but not as much as before. What did you do, Estel, after I fainted?”

Estel continued to monitor Frodo’s pulse and watch him to make sure his inhalations were slow and full as he told how he had found the ribs to have shifted and how he had realigned and then bound them back into place. Frodo nodded even as he continued to concentrate on his breathing.

“Alright, I think a light meal is in order and then some tea. What say you, Master Baggins?” Estel watched Frodo to see if he could maintain some semblance of normal breathing without concentrating on it so hard. He also was uncertain if he should chance even the low dose of poppy after the brief scare.

“I am not very hungry, Estel. But if you will join me, I will have some tea with biscuits,” Frodo said wearily.

“I will have tea and biscuits with you if you will have some fried mushrooms with your biscuits,” Estel countered with a grin.

Frodo smiled widely. “That sounds lovely, Estel. Will you have some too?”

“I’ve had a whole pan of eggs and mushrooms so I think just tea will be fine,” he smirked.

Frodo smiled. “I would have much rather have helped you eat breakfast than end up back in bed, I assure you,” he chuckled.

“I am sure. Very well then, I’ll be right back with your breakfast.” He bent and placed a tender kiss on Frodo’s smiling mouth, lingering as he savored the warm sweetness. He felt a bit guilty even though he was thoroughly enjoying the kiss while checking the hobbit’s breathing and temperature. He slowly pulled away giving a short peck to the tip of Frodo’s nose and went to the kitchen. Soon he returned with a plate of buttery mushrooms, three small biscuits and the tea. He handed the laced willow bark tea to Frodo and poured a cup of regular tea for himself.

“Ugg, what is this?” Frodo gagged.

“Your tea, Frodo. I sweetened it,” Estel said defensively. “It will ease your pain.”  
Frodo looked into the cup with a grimace.

“I could always add more honey, I suppose,” Estel said with a smile.

“Perhaps it will grow on me,” Frodo murmured dubiously. He sat the cup down and looked at the plate. His eyes lit up when he saw the mushrooms, which he immediately began to devour. He took a small bite of biscuit as Estel sat down beside him against the wall and placed the plate between them, taking a biscuit for himself. They ate in companionable silence for a few moments until he noticed Frodo lagging behind. He glanced sideways at the hobbit who sat holding the biscuit in one hand while staring glassily off into space. The teacup sat, empty, upon the small table.

“’Stel?”

“Yes Frodo?”

“Wha’ xactly wass in the tea anyway?” Frodo mumbled.

“Just a little willow bark and something to help you rest, Frodo.”

“Oh.”

“Estel smiled, as he rose, taking the biscuit from Frodo’s unmoving hand and placing it back on the plate, setting it aside. “Come, my love, sleep.” Frodo stared up into his eyes, unblinking. ’He is so beautiful’ Estel thought to himself as he gazed deeply into Frodo’s eyes. “Are you ready to lie down, love?”

The tousled curls nodded ever so slightly and Estel grinned. He held Frodo to him as he rearranged the pillows and lay him down. Frodo’s eyes were closed, his face slack. Estel gently sat down beside him on the bed, placing his hand on the hobbit’s chest. Frodo’s breaths were deep and regular. Next he checked Frodo’s pulse, which was strong and steady. He decided to curl up next to Frodo’s right side so he could monitor him for awhile, making sure that his breathing would be unaffected by the poppy extract. He lay down, pulling Frodo closely to him, placing one hand across the small chest. With his other he began to twine the soft, chestnut curls around and through his fingers. He was unable to stop smiling, so content was he with this lovely being. He could not remember every being this happy.

Hours later he was awoken from a light doze by the sound of retching. Frodo was on the floor, leaning over the chamber pot, vomiting. Alarmed, the ranger was immediately at the hobbit’s side, one arm firmly wrapped about Frodo’s ribcage in an attempt to protect the injured ribs. With his other hand he held the hobbit’s forehead, holding back Frodo’s curls. Frodo’s arms trembled violently as he struggled to support himself while he convulsed.

“Leave … leave me,” Frodo gasped.

Startled Estel pulled back slightly. “I will not leave you, Frodo. You are near collapse and your ribs need support so that they don’t shift as you vomit. I will lend what small comfort I can while you are in need,” he murmured as he began to gently massage Frodo’s back in small circles.

“Don’t care. I don’t want you here. Leave now,” Frodo said angrily. He moaned as his body convulsed and bile spewed into the vessel. He struggled against the ranger, pushing the man’s hands away weakly.

Estel looked confused, then resolute. “I will not leave you – not in your condition, Master Baggins. Frodo continued the struggle but gradually his efforts weakened. He leaned heavily over the man’s arm gasping, as he spit the last of the sourness from his mouth.

Estel retrieved a cup from the small table and touched it to Frodo’s lips. Frodo rinsed, spit then slowly drank. The man wrung out a cloth and tenderly wiped the sweat and vomit from Frodo’s face. Estel rose slowly, cradling Frodo against his chest as he placed the hobbit back under the covers. Frodo’s eyes crept slowly open. He looked up at Estel and the ranger’s heart nearly broke to see the pain in the blue eyes.

“Hurts,” Frodo gasped.

“I know. I am sorry, little one. Here, drink some more water and I will get some tea to help with the pain.” Estel left, returning shortly with more of the tea.

Frodo drank the water thirstily and although he grimaced, he drank all of the tea as well. He relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

“Frodo why did you want me to leave?” Estel asked him quietly, continuing to wipe the sweat from the hobbit’s face.

Frodo’s mouth tightened into a line. “I prefer to be alone when I am sick. I do not need an audience to watch me as I retch, nor am I a child that needs his hand held. It is … embarrassing. It took a long time before Tulkas understood but eventually he allowed me that small shred of dignity.”

Estel looked surprised. “How long has this been going on, Frodo? Surely this is not the same nausea that plagued you before I departed!”

Frodo smiled, his eyes creeping slowly open. “The very same, Estel. It doesn’t matter. It only happens in the morning now, instead of all day like before, and then it’s not even every morning.”

Estel jumped up, grabbing his medicine bundle, and began to fumble through the contents. He located what he was looking for and left, walking briskly to the kitchen. He put the kettle then returned to Frodo. He unceremoniously pulled the blankets down and proceeded to run his hands over every inch of Frodo’s body, pausing every now and then as he probed an area more thoroughly.

Frodo’s brow creased and his eyes cracked open. “What are you doing, Estel?” Frodo groused, trying to pull the blanket back up.

“It is not normal for you to have been vomiting for this length of time,” Estel said gruffly. “Something is not right and I am determined to find out what it is. If only Elrond were here. He knows much more about hobbits than I. He even wrote a book many years ago about…” A sudden smile lit the ranger’s face and he jumped up, crossing to the bookcase. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” He mused to himself. His finger finally located the sought after text and he pulled it down and blew off the dust.

“Ah,” he exclaimed. He crossed to Frodo and saw that the hobbit had fallen asleep. There was a frown on the pale face as Frodo lay shivering, his body pulled up into a fetal position. “Sorry, my love,” Estel murmured as he pulled the comforter up to the hobbit’s chin and placed a gentle kiss on Frodo’s forehead.

 

Estel looked down at the book remembering back to when the Lord of Rivendell had written it. It had been shortly after Bilbo Baggins had arrived the first time. Many of the elves had none but the barest of knowledge about hobbits and had plagued Elrond endlessly with questions about the race. Bilbo had been more than happy to answer any and all inquiries but he had remained only long enough to pique the immortals interest before leaving. Thus the bulk of the questions had fallen to Elrond, much to the elf’s annoyance.

Elrond had finally retreated to his room and begun to write a guide of sorts, describing hobbits, their culture and the consequences of their interactions with men. Estel had been but 8 years old but more mature than his years and had asked Elrond what he had meant by ‘consequences’. He remembered how Ada had smiled at him, his eyebrows drawn up in amusement.

“Things not normally occurring in a hobbit,” was all Ada had said. Estel looked back at the cover of the text.

Hobbits, Their Culture and Interaction with Other Free Peoples of Middle Earth

By Elrond HalfElven of Rivendell and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire

 

A Summary of the Culture and Biological Peculiarities of the Race

Estel read the cover again. What had Elrond meant when he had included the line ‘A Summary of the Culture and Biological Peculiarities of the Race?’ He pondered. Elrond was the most intelligent and wisest being Estel had ever known. The ranger was certain that he would find answers to his questions within the book’s yellowing pages.

TBC


	14. Don't Ever Look Back

Time passed slowly for Estel; his hours spent caring for Frodo and reading the history of the Shire folk. He didn’t begrudge the slow passage of time as long as he could watch over Frodo while the hobbit slept peacefully. Frodo’s beautiful face was now etched completely in his mind. When Frodo was awake they snuggled close together and talked softly about the Shire and Sam. Estel told tales of the Numenorians and recounted the humorous exploits of his fellow rangers. He avoided the more dangerous tales in order to spare the hobbit worrying needlessly.

While the time passed slowly for Estel the hours ticked by quickly for Frodo. For the most part Estel kept him in a healing sleep, and when Frodo did wake he ate, bathed and then usually returned to his bed to sleep afterwards.  
Estel had only read a few chapters of the book and had discovered his knowledge of hobbits was sorely lacking - barely touching the surface of the fun loving, peaceful folk. On the morning of the third day Frodo woke early, stretching languidly as he opened his eyes. Estel was asleep beside him, one of his large hands placed on the hobbit’s narrow chest. Frodo smiled as he looked at the rugged face then maneuvered slowly onto the man’s hips. He leaned over and captured the ranger’s lips in a deep kiss. He felt Estel smile as his arms encircled him, pulling the hobbit down and enfolding him gently. He deepened the kiss, his tongue touching the sweet lips and Frodo opened to him with a moan allowing Estel to fully explore the hobbit’s mouth.

Estel pulled back slightly and gazed into the beautiful blue eyes. “Someone is feeling better,” he murmured with a grin. “Are you in any pain?”

Frodo grinned lecherously down at the man. “Not enough to keep me from enjoying the tastes and pleasures of my ranger,” he quipped.

Estel grinned widely. “As much as I would love to lose myself to your delightful body, I am afraid I must decline.”

Frodo’s face fell even as Estel’s own erection screamed at the man in disappointment.

“You must be jesting,” Frodo said indignantly. “I feel perfectly fine I assure you, more than ready for a tumble, Estel.” He ground his body against Estel’s to prove his point. Estel’s eyes fluttered closed as a groan escaped his lips.  
“I see I am not alone in this matter. Your body has given you up, Ranger,” Frodo said, smirking. He squirmed against Estel, harder this time, causing the man to lurch and tighten his hold on the hobbit.

“You are a wanton and evil creature,” the Ranger muttered. “Ahh…stop that this instant,” he whispered crankily, trying, and failing miserably, to end the exquisite torture. Frodo only wriggled more, slipping his hand into the ranger’s leggings and grasping Estel’s huge erection. The hobbit grinned seductively down at the man as he gave the organ a squeeze.

“Silence, Ranger. I mean to have my way with you and that is final. I am going to lick (Estel groaned) and suckle (Estel’s eyes slipped closed as his erection gave a jerk) and savor all of you and then (Frodo smiled down at the man, his voice dropping to a lustful whisper) …”

Estel’s resistance snapped and he captured Frodo’s mouth roughly with his own, grasping the hobbit’s backside with such swiftness and ferocity that Frodo’s breath escaped in a rush. He flipped Frodo to his back and swept the nightshirt off over the hobbits head. The tearing of cloth could be heard as he fumbled desperately with his tunic and removed his leggings with a yank. He ground his arousal against the hobbits’. Now it was Frodo’s turn to groan and writhe with need. His eyes rolled back into his head as his neck arched back exposing his pale throat.

Estel’s mouth moved hungrily over Frodo’s as his hands fisted convulsively in the hobbit’s curls. Frodo openly gave himself over to the frantic grasping of his lover’s hands. Looking up at Estel he felt a shiver of fear at the look of hunger in the man’s eyes, the man’s body engulfing his own as he was pinned to the mattress. He could not have escaped even if he had wanted to, which was the furthest thing from his mind.

Estel could feel himself losing control as the sensations surged through him. Vaguely he knew he was using his size and weight to possess his lover, yet when he risked a glance at Frodo, all he saw was the desire to be consumed. The look of lust and need on the hobbit’s face spurred him on. He longed to bury himself deep in Frodo’s hot canal, pinning him with hard, fast thrusts until he was spent, but a small voice reminded him of the hobbit’s injuries. He placed his weeping penis at Frodo’s cleft and opened desperate eyes seeking Frodo’s affirmation that this was what the hobbit also desired.

Frodo nodded vigorously. “All of you…now!” he panted. Hesitation must have been apparent on the Ranger’s face for Frodo inched down and placed his legs around the man’s waist. He closed his eyes as his head began to move restlessly back and forth on the pillow. “All of you. I want to feel you deep within me, pumping and filling me hard and fast,” he gasped. That was all it took for caution to flee and passion to completely overcome the Ranger. He repositioned himself at Frodo’s entrance and plunged to the hilt into the hobbit.

Frodo arched up towards him, the wind leaving his lungs in an audible whoosh. A roaring filled Estel’s head; he was oblivious to all except the overwhelming sensations possessing his body. Frantically he pumped into Frodo. He moved at a feverish pace, riding the hobbit hard and savagely. His hands grasped Frodo’s shoulders as he desperately nipped and suckled every inch of the hobbit’s body. He buried himself, over and over again, slamming into Frodo’s hot, tight entrance. As Estel’s pace quickened Frodo could feel the gland that brought pleasure, pulsing as he neared orgasm. His vision began to darken as the sensations brought him closer and closer to that blissful delirium. He felt himself tipping over, no longer able to control his partner and not wanting to. He arched into the frenetic being above him even as Estel pulled him upwards and increased both the tempo and the depth of his penetrations. Frodo felt himself floating as his body climaxed and he sprayed his seed over Estel’s abdomen. Estel, covered in sweat, continued to hammer into him as Frodo’s post coital body spasmed with aftershocks.

Suddenly Estel grasped Frodo’s head and pulled him into an intense kiss, his tongue circling and thrusting into the hobbit’s mouth. Frodo nipped at the man’s tongue and Estel abruptly pulled away, his body beginning to convulse. He shouted Frodo’s name as he continued to pump. With a final surge forward, he planted himself deep within Frodo’s body arching his back as he came, a fountain of semen rushed into the spent hobbit. He pulled Frodo up so that they sat, still joined, in a “V”; Estel’s back still arched backwards, his face contorted in ecstasy. Frodo slumped forward against Estel’s chest in exhaustion.

Estel’s eyes abruptly flew open and he looked down at his lover’s face in alarm.

“Frodo, I … I lost control. I don’t know what came over me. I have never felt such feelings, such lust…. I am sorry, so sorry. You deserved to be treated with gentleness and here I was brutish and…”his words came in a rush as he studied Frodo’s perspiring face for any sign of discomfort.

Frodo smiled weakly. “Fine. I am fine. More than fine, actually, Estel. Never have I felt so loved and desired. This was the best medicine yet,” he panted with a grin. His eyes were still closed as Estel gently withdrew. Frodo grimaced as the men laid him gently back onto the pillows.

“You make me crazy, Master Baggins. I lose any semblance of restraint when I touch your perfect body,” Estel said huskily.

Frodo grinned sleepily.

Even though Frodo had said he was well, Estel methodically checked the hobbit’s ribs, the curiously enlarged abdomen and lastly, Frodo’s backside. Estel winced when he saw how badly abraded the hobbit was. He reached for his ointment on the table and applied it liberally over the new hurts. “I am a brute. Look what I have done to you,” he muttered to himself. Frodo winced each time the cold concoction touched his bottom.

“You worry too much, Estel. I won’t break, you know. I have absolutely no regrets about our union. Never regret loving me, Estel. It makes me feel warm and light, knowing how much you care,” Frodo murmured.

Estel smiled as he found a flannel, wet it and began to wash the semen off of his love’s stomach and then his own. Frodo lay quiescent, as Estel continued his ministrations, a smile of contentment on his lips.

“You will be sore when we ride out, I am afraid,” Estel murmured.

“I could be content to lie here with you forever, only rising for the occasional meal,” Frodo said languorously. At that moment his stomach rumbled loudly.

Estel smiled widely. “Somehow I do not believe an occasional meal would be sufficient.”

Frodo laughed opening his eyes and looking deeply into Estel’s. They sat looking at each other for many moments as Estel curled and uncurled a tendril of Frodo’s hair absently around his forefinger. Estel’s smile slowly faded. “I have never felt love such as this for anyone,” he said in a whisper.

Frodo smiled even wider. “Not even for Galest?” he murmured.

Estel threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Not even Galest.” The ranger leaned down and pulled Frodo to him, passionately kissing the beautiful mouth.

“I love you with all my heart, Estel. I could not imagine my life without you,” Frodo said, turning more serious.

“You will never need to, Master Baggins,” Estel murmured, running the back of his knuckles down the pale cheek. He rose suddenly from the bed.

“And where do you think you’re going, Ranger?” Frodo asked querulously.

Estel quickly pulled on his clothes, smiling down at the tousled hobbit. “To fix your breakfast, of course. It would be a long journey indeed were we to depart with an unfed hobbit in tow.”

Frodo’s eyes lit up. “I’ll come help you,” he said cheerfully.

Estel eyed him warily but knowing the stubbornness of the hobbit, chose to extend his hand instead, helping Frodo off of the bed. Frodo’s legs trembled violently. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the vertigo that rushed over him. “Will you at least allow me to help you dress?” asked Estel softly.

“I am…perfectly able…to dress myself, thank you,” Frodo said, panted indignantly.

“Very well, Master Baggins. Then I will leave you to your task,” the ranger said unconvinced. He rose slowly and released his hold on the smaller hand. Frodo wobbled precariously then placed his hand on the side table. Estel left the room, giving a last worried look back at his lover. Frodo slowly pulled on his small clothes and breeches. He attempted several times to put his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, but the pain in his upper body along with the weakness in his arms worked against him. He gasped as his rib cage rebelled against one final attempt. Strong hands were instantly on his shoulders and he turned towards Estel.

“There is no shame in asking for assistance, stubborn hobbit,” Estel said gently, slowly placing each of Frodo’s arms in the sleeves and then buttoning the shirt.

“I wanted to show you that I could do it myself,” Frodo said softly.

“You will in time. You need to mend first,” Estel said as he completed the task and retrieved Frodo’s hairbrush.

Frodo had noticed early on that none of the men used hairbrushes, content to run their fingers through their hair upon awakening. He had remarked, one morning, on how unruly his foot hair had become and that no hobbit worth his salt would ever go about looking so unkempt. The next morning the hairbrush had appeared at his bedside table as if by magic. He suspected that it had belonged to Tilion, perhaps a treasured heirloom of his mother’s. He smiled softly down at the ranger as Estel lovingly brushed the foot hair into place. Estel rose and gently began addressing Frodo’s unruly curls, trying not to tug and frowning at the impossibility of the task. Eventually he tired of the exercise and set the brush aside.

“If you’ll allow me?” Estel asked, opening his arms. Frodo nodded and Estel lifted him onto his hip and walked to the table in the main room. He sat Frodo on a chair stacked with books so that the hobbit could easily reach the table. “I have a special surprise for you,” Estel smiled mysteriously.

Frodo grinned. “You do? What is it?” he asked excitedly. Estel walked into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of pickled mushrooms. It had been an afterthought to purchase them from the round hobbitess in Bree but, knowing how much Frodo loved both mushrooms and pickled vegetables, he had been unable to resist, turning around at the last moment to return to the hobbitess’s stall. He placed them in front of the hobbit with a flourish. Frodo’s eyes widened and his mouth began to water as he looked at the bottles. “Wherever did you get them?” he exclaimed.

“I bought them along with the others, but thought this morning you might be interested in something special. Would you like some?” Estel asked, his gray eyes twinkling.

Frodo vigorously nodded and Estel pried off the lid, dishing a healthy serving onto a plate. He dropped two eggs expertly into the sizzling skillet, stirred in some cheese then brought the dish to the table. He was just about to sit down when Frodo asked him if he would bring an empty mug with him. He set the mug down in front of Frodo and watched in horror as Frodo poured some of the pungent brine into it. Estel’s mouth puckered violently and he took a large gulp of tea.

Frodo’s eyes closed in ecstasy as he drank the brine down in one gulp. He sat the cup down and began to eat the mushrooms with gusto.

“I still can not fathom how you can eat those or drink that salty liquid,” Estel smirked.

“It’s a mystery to me as well. Everyone in the Shire pickles vegetables, but one only eats them if there is nothing else.” He smiled, taking another mouthful of egg. “Sam does have a lovely recipe for pickled cucumbers, of all things, and they are delightful, but I have never enjoyed the others.” Estel smiled as he watched Frodo eat and then pushed back his chair.

“I should finish packing our things. When you are finished with your breakfast, we will need to be on our way.”

Frodo frowned down at his plate, his fork moving the remaining food around absently. “Estel?” The ranger looked back at him with a nod. “Estel, couldn’t I please come with you?” Frodo asked quietly. “I promise I won’t get in the way…I just don’t want to say goodbye after having just found you.” Frodo looked back down at his plate, already knowing what the ranger would say.

Estel smiled sadly. “I would like nothing more than to always have you beside me, Frodo. But I cannot take you with me. It is far too dangerous and you are too powerful of a distraction,” he lightly jested. Frodo didn’t smile at the joke.

Tears slipped silently down Frodo’s cheeks. Estel lifted him from his seat and pulled him onto his lap as Frodo began to sob uncontrollably. “I…I love you so much, Estel. What if something happens to you and I never see you again?” he cried softly.

Estel cringed. The thought had been on his mind as well. “Nothing will happen to me, Frodo. I will be extra careful now that I have someone waiting for me. I am very good at taking care of myself, I assure you,” Estel said quietly. He prayed that fate would not be so cruel as to rob him of a future with Frodo now that it was within his grasp.

Frodo frowned up at him. “You will promise to write, won’t you? I will write you every day.”

Estel chuckled. “Every day? Surely you have other matters to attend to. How will I ever find Butterbur … he will be buried up to his neck in post?”

“Well, I will write every day but only mail once a week, but only for Butterbur’s sake, mind you,” Frodo giggled.

Estel turned serious as he allowed Frodo’s curls to wind around his fingers. He looked at the chestnut locks and mused at how this was now one of his favorite pastimes. He looked into the blue eyes. “I will make every effort to write to you, but I will be far from Bree and I do not know when I will be able to retrieve your letters from Butterbur. If you don’t hear from me for a few weeks you must promise me that you will not worry. I am often gone for many weeks while on patrol.” Frodo nodded imperceptibly, but a frown began to pucker his forehead.

“Finish your breakfast, Frodo, then we need to leave,” Estel murmured. He moved the hobbit back to his chair and rose. Frodo watched him sadly as he picked at the remains of his breakfast. No longer having an appetite, he slipped down from the chair and began cleaning up the dishes, putting away the leftover food.

Estel had packed most of their belongings while Frodo had slept and all he had left to do was load the baggage onto Galest. He went out to the stable, speaking gently to the horse as he placed the tack on her. When he had finished, he gave her a carrot, which earned him a soft knicker. He led her across the opening between the stable and the cabin and began to load their belongings. All he had left was to gather some foodstuffs and Frodo then they would be underway, he thought. He went back into the cabin and saw that Frodo was looking forlornly out of the window. Estel slowly gathered their supplies, placing the last of the pickled vegetables and mushrooms into a leather pouch. He wrote a quick note to Tulkas, explaining the carnage outside the cabin and telling him that Frodo was with him and that they were returning to the Shire.

“Come Frodo, let us be underway,” he said quietly.

Frodo nodded and walked with him out of the cabin and across the paddock. Galest huffed gently into the hobbit’s hair by way of greeting. Frodo smiled up at the huge horse, caressing her nose. Estel affixed the leather pouch onto the back of the horse and then lifted Frodo into the saddle. The hobbit noticeably winced as his thighs and bottom connected with the saddle. Estel smiled knowingly then mounted. He pulled Frodo to him so that the hobbit sat straddling Estel’s lap then wrapped a blanket, followed by his cloak, around both of them. The ranger took the reins and guided Galest towards the trees. Frodo watched over Estel’s shoulder as the haven gradually receded behind them.

He reflected on the fact that when he had come to the sanctuary he had been terrified and his body broken. Now he felt much the same. Fear of losing Estel, fear of his return to the Shire plagued him. The pain he felt was not of a broken body, but of a broken heart as he thought of the rangers that had become his family during his recovery. He wondered if he would ever see them again. The thought caused tears to fill his eyes. As the cabin finally disappeared from sight he pulled himself down under the covers and sobbed quietly. Estel pulled him closer, feeling the small body shake as Frodo tried to hide his tears. The ranger prayed silently that Frodo’s fears for his own well-being would be unfounded.

TBC


	15. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bilbo leaves, Frodo finds the silence of Bag End oppressive. He decides to take a day trip but is waylaid by ruffians who capture and abuse him. A young ranger rescues him and takes Frodo to his leader, a rough, no nonsense, ranger captain. The captain heals his physical wounds and his heart as well as they fall in love with one another but, unbeknownst to either of them, Frodo is with child. Now Frodo must return to the Shire while Estel roots out the ruffians that threaten to overwhelm the borders of the Shire.
> 
> This is an AU story rated NC-17 with eventual MPREG situations.

Frodo lay safely ensconced in Estel’s arms, covered completely by the ranger’s cloak, as he considered his options. He had had more than enough time to weigh the different scenarios that would convince Estel to not only allow Frodo to accompany him on his patrol of the Shire and its boundaries, but perhaps even ask Frodo to come along. Frodo, on some level, knew that the latter was more likely just wishful thinking, but he had to hold onto the hope that Estel would allow him to come along. They simply could not be separated from one another, not after all that had happened to bring them together, he thought.

He worried incessantly about Estel leaving him at Bag End and the very real possibility of their parting being a final one. Finally exhausted, he fell into a restless doze, rocked by the constant motion of Galest’s sure steps through the deepening snow.

Estel, completely covered in downy flakes, resembled more a visage of some long ago ghostly inhabitant of these lands than a ranger. The blizzard was growing in intensity and he was finding it harder and harder to keep his bearings in the complete whiteout. He patted Galest on her neck and murmured some encouragement. The mare struggled onward as the drifts deepened, her head bowed against the blizzard, occasionally slipping but never stopping, attune to the slight pressure of her master’s hands on the reins. She would have done anything her owner desired, bound by her loyalty and love for the ranger.

Estel spent most of the time in deep thought about Frodo. He worried about how the hobbit would take his death, should it come to that, though the odds were against that happening. He was loath to leave Frodo and continue on with his duties, however noble and necessary they may be. He wished more than anything to be able to discard his current existence, make a home with the hobbit in some imagined place far from war and hidden amongst the sweet smelling pines of some distant mountain range. Their cares would be few, their days filled with the joy of being together and loving one another forever. He smiled dreamily to himself as he imagined the two of them growing old together. Their lives would be filled with a passion befitting soul mates, which is how he thought of their relationship.

He was jarred from his reverie by a punch to his ribs. “Oof,” he exclaimed, caught off guard. He peeked beneath the cloak, mildly irritated and ready to tell Frodo so. The words stopped when he saw Frodo’s face. He appeared to be locked in a dark dream, a sheen of perspiration slicked his face and his eyes moved rapidly beneath the translucent eyelids. The hobbit’s brow was pulled down in a frown and his lips moved soundlessly.

Estel pulled lightly on the reigns and Galest came to a stop with a snort. “Frodo,” he called softly. “Frodo, wake up, my love,” he crooned, patting the hobbit’s cheek with his cold hand. If anything this seemed to agitate Frodo even more and he began to writhe and pitch against the ranger. Estel dismounted managing to lay the fighting blanket wrapped package onto the snow. Again he shook Frodo and called for him to waken. Seeing that his efforts were, thus far, futile he took a handful of snow, opened the blanket and pulled Frodo’s shirtfront open, pushing the snow onto the warm chest.

“Ahhh,” Frodo yelled. “Whatdidyoudothatfor?” he shouted, jumping up off the ground in one smooth leap. He moved backwards as he shook his shirt trying to dislodge the melting snow.

Estel smiled. “I needed to get your attention.” His smile broadened into a grin. “It seems I have succeeded.

Frodo frowned then rubbed his eyes. “You could have done it differently, I should think,” he retorted. He looked around him, seeing nothing but white. The snow blew into his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Where are we?” he asked grumpily.

Estel grinned. He is so beautiful when he is groggy from sleep or irritated, he thought to himself. “We are stopping here for the night,” he said.

“Here? But there’s no cover, no dry wood for a fire,” Frodo exclaimed. His spirits dropped as he looked around. He had been craving a hot cup of tea more than anything.

Estel smiled. “Ah, but there is cover if you look carefully.”

Frodo scanned the area slowly, looking for any refuge against the elements. Seeing only a cliff beside them and a wide expanse of snow and trees, he looked back at the ranger sarcastically. “Where?”

Estel smiled and motioned towards the cliff. “Come, I need to show you something,” he said mysteriously.

For the first time Frodo noticed a narrow path that gently rose, skirting the hillside. He would have easily missed it if he’d been on his own, as it wound around the rocks and up the cliff face. They climbed the gradual incline until Estel abruptly stopped in front of the flat wall of the cliff face. The rock slick had a small overhang to it and Frodo frowned as he imagined them huddled against the blizzard in such meager shelter. Smaller rocks and debris lay everywhere and, once again, Frodo searched the area for the supposed camp spot. He frowned. “I still don’t see anything even remotely resembling a campsite,” he groused.

“That is as it should be, Master Baggins,” Estel quipped. He approached the flat expanse before them and began to remove the pile of rocks and brush that had, by all appearances, settled itself against the base of the cliff face quite naturally.

Frodo’s eyes widened as a large opening appeared before his eyes. “A cave! How ingenious you rangers are!” he exclaimed with a smile. All the debris now removed, they stepped forward into the cavernous opening. “It’s huge!” he said, his voice echoing eerily off of the walls.

Estel smiled. “It is one of many ranger hideaways equipped so that the men may have secrecy while they rest.”

Frodo’s eyes scanned the main room. He noted that a large stack of wood and kindling rested in one corner and a pallet of leaves lay in another. “They seem to have thought of everything,” Frodo said with a grin.

“There are even rocks to warm and place in the bedding,” Estel said looking about. “The second room has hay and is for housing the horses. Speaking of which, Galest, I am sure, will enjoy a warm refuge as much as we will.” He walked back out into the blizzard, returning shortly with the horse who eyed the cave warily. Estel murmured softly to the mare as he continued to pull gently on her reins. Slowly Galest moved forward, her pace increasing as the scent of oats and hay reached her nose. Soon she was comfortably housed in the adjoining room. Estel chuckled as he began to unload the panniers and saddle.

Frodo pushed the leaves in the corner into a mound, retrieved their bedding, and spread it out on the pallet. As Estel wiped Galest down, he collected the kindling and started a fire. Soon a welcoming blaze began to fill the cavern with warmth. Next, he retrieved their supplies and began to melt snow in a small pot. More snow was melted in a larger pot and he sliced the carrots and venison into the water. A jar of the mushrooms came next along with a few potatoes and parsnips. After salting the soup, Frodo pulled out a small bag from his pack, which proved to be flour.

“Hmmm…remind me to always bring a hobbit along whenever I travel.” Estel chuckled. Immediately he wished he could take back the words as he saw Frodo’s face cloud.

Frodo looked down, concentrating on a small lump of dough that was beginning to take shape. He moved slowly to retrieve the skillet and coated it with fat as Estel fidgeted.

Estel moved to the stack of wood and picked up a few logs, bringing them back to the fire. A pile of logs sat off to the side of the blaze, as if purposely mocking the ranger. Estel wracked his brain, trying to think of something he could say to alleviate the tension that filled the room. He wished he could take Frodo with him, but knew that should something happen to his new-found love, he would never forgive himself. No, it was safer for Frodo to remain in the Shire. He looked over at Frodo and watched as the hobbit mixed bits of cheese into the dough and then expertly pulled portions off, placing them in the skillet.

“We will have to wait for the soup to be ready before we can put the skillet on,” Frodo said quietly.

“Frodo, I…” Estel began, reaching for the hobbit’s hand.

Frodo pulled his hand quickly out of reach. “I think the mushrooms will add a nice flavor to the soup and, with the scones, we should have a feast ready in no time at all,” he babbled. He could not deal with talk of the inevitable parting just now. They still had 2-4 days ahead of them, perhaps more with the storm, and he planned to make the most of the time they had left together. He moved out of reach as he spoke, finally sitting on a rock on the far side of the fire, and began to stir the soup faster than it needed.

Estel frowned as he dropped his hand to his side. “Yes, I am looking forward to your delicious soup. It smells quite intoxicating,” he said quietly.

Frodo shot him a pleased smile. “Sam is a much better cook than I. I seem to constantly end up covered in flour or have honey in my hair, leaving the kitchen in a complete shambles. I do make the best cinnamon buns in the Shire, however,” he said with a grin.

“Perhaps you could make me some sometime. I admit I have quite the sweet tooth, although I don’t have many chances to indulge it,” Estel chuckled.

“I would like that very much,” Frodo said happily. “Perhaps you could stay just a few days and I could bake some of my personal favorites,” he said hopefully. He turned away quickly after he spoke, not wanting to see the look on Estel’s face as the ranger searched for some way to decline the invitation and continue on with his travels without further delay.

“We shall see, Frodo,” Estel murmured. Frodo’s head shot up, a surprised expression on his face. Estel couldn’t help chuckle at his love’s expression.

“Truly? You could stay for a time?”

“I would be honored to be your guest for a day or so, if you would have me,” Estel grinned.

Frodo jumped up and ran to Estel, jumping into the man’s lap and eliciting an “oomph” from the ranger. Frodo rained kisses over the man’s face causing Estel to chuckle. He pulled the hobbit into an embrace and placed a soft kiss on Frodo’s lovely lips. As they parted, they gazed at each other intently, each trying to memorize the other’s features.

Frodo jumped up, “Time to eat,” he said gaily. Estel could not help but laugh.

“Trust a hobbit to place food before…well, anything else,” he said with a lecherous look. He looked Frodo slowly up and down, causing Frodo to squirm uncomfortably as his member hardened, tenting his breeches. Estel’s gaze drifted down to the obvious erection and he licked his lips, causing Frodo to groan at the implied joining. The smell of scorching soup drifting about the campfire reached Frodo’s nose and, being a hobbit, he jumped forward, grabbing at the pot, and shouting an Elvish curse as he pushed the soup off the coals. He lifted the lid and inspected the damage.

He shot a glance at Estel, “I’m sorry, Estel.”

Estel looked very relaxed and unconcerned. “We have all night to enjoy each other. I, for one, plan to take every available liberty at pleasuring you and receiving pleasure in turn,” he said with a smile.

Frodo’s legs felt suddenly weak and eating, well eating food anyway, was the furthest thing from his mind. “Perhaps dinner could be put off for a time,” Frodo whispered huskily, shooting a glance at Estel.

Estel chuckled. “You are going to need all of your strength this night, Master Hobbit. We will eat, perhaps have a pipe or two, then and only then will we retire,” he said with a grin.

“You mean to torture me?” Frodo laughed.

“Oh yes, my hobbit love, I plan to draw out every moment. If it’s torture you want, torture you will receive,” he growled. “Anticipation is greater than realization, my love.” Another grin.

“I highly doubt that, ranger,” Frodo mumbled. “Fine, have it your way then.” He placed the scones on the fire and struggled to keep his thoughts on them instead of on Estel. Finally he pulled the bread off of the fire and moved the pan to the side. He spilled some of the soup as he shakily poured it into the mugs and removed the scones from the sizzling pan. “Dinner’s ready,” he added, his voice trembling as he thought of what was to come after they wolfed down the meal. Frodo sat down very close to Estel, gracing the ranger with one of his beautiful smiles.

They ate in peace, their meal frequently interrupted by lustful gazes and an occasional kiss. Frodo dipped his scone into the soup and slowly lifted it to Estel’s mouth. The ranger’s gray eyes gazed longingly at Frodo’s perfect face for a moment before opening his mouth and sucking the sop along with Frodo’s finger, into his mouth. Estel’s eyes drifted closed and he moaned, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. Frodo was instantly rock hard. He shoved aside the soup and bread, spilling it into the fire, and climbed into Estel’s lap. He pulled his fingers from Estel’s mouth with a smack and replaced them with a frantic kiss, his tongue plunging into the ranger’s mouth. He pumped against Estel’s hardness in a frenzied rhythm as the ranger lifted him, rushed to the pallet, and lay him quickly down.

“I have a surprise for you,” Estel panted.

Frodo’s eyes crept open. “No, not now…hurry Estel I cannot wait any longer,” he begged.

The ranger ignored him, instead rushing to his pack and withdrawing a delicately fluted vial. He stripped quickly and walked back to Frodo’s side. Frodo had removed his clothing and lay naked on the bed, his shaft rigid, and a drop of precum at its tip. Estel almost dropped the vial when he saw the perfect body before him, wanting only to fall to his knees and nurse that weeping organ, drawing it deeply into his throat.

Shakily, he dropped to his knees and opened the vial. The room was instantly filled with the scent of lavender and something else that Frodo could not place.

“Eucalyptus,” Estel whispered, as he poured the oil into his palm and began to rub his hands together vigorously, warming it.

“Roll over,” he growled. Frodo grinned as he happily complied. The sight of the perfect buttocks was almost Estel’s undoing as he envisioned thrusting into the hot, tight entrance. A dribble of semen began to ooze from his penis and his hands trembled as he began to slowly massage Frodo’s tense shoulders.

“Uhhh,” Frodo groaned. “That feels heavenly, Estel,” Frodo gasped. Estel was unable to reply as he tried to force his thoughts on the task at hand. He straddled Frodo’s body, his penis placed squarely along the crack of Frodo’s buttocks. Frodo tried to arch up towards him, but Estel gently pushed him back down.

“Not yet, Frodo. Not yet,” he whispered in the hobbit’s ear.

Frodo whimpered. “Please Estel, I’m begging you. I am so close, so close and I need you now,” he mewled.

Estel’s penis gave a twitch but he only smiled down at his love. His massage moved down the arms and then the back, where he gave special attention to the broken rib. Then he moved down the buttocks, which he kneaded slowly. Frodo arched up once again as Estel slipped two fingers quickly in and out of Frodo’s passageway. Frodo cried out, pushing all the way up to the first knuckle of Estel’s hand. Frodo’s pants and moans echoed off of the cave walls as he squirmed and writhed languorously beneath Estel’s shaking knees.

“Roll over, Frodo,” Estel said huskily. Frodo quickly rolled onto his back.

Estel groaned when he saw the perfection before him. Frodo’s beautiful body was flushed with need as he continued to whimper and beg Estel to make love to him. Before Estel knew what was happening he had pounced, drawing the hobbit’s organ deeply into his throat. Frodo cried out at the sudden warmth of the man’s mouth on him and after only one thrust upward, came with such ferocity that he felt his vision dim. If not for the kaleidoscope of stars, which exploded behind his eyelids, he would have thought himself blinded by the sheer magnitude of his climax. He could think of no better way to lose ones sight, he thought with a smile. Estel drank deeply, nursing on Frodo until he was spent. Frodo continued to writhe, as aftershock after aftershock shook his small frame. But then he did something quite unexpected. He wrapped his muscular legs about the man’s torso and, unceremoniously, flipped a surprised Estel onto his back. He rose up over the man’s shaft and dropped down on the erection with such force that Estel cried out in surprise.

“Oil,” the man rasped. But the Frodo ignored the man’s cry. He threw his head back and began to pump furiously up and down, slamming himself down with such force that the whole of the man was engulfed into the his canal, the slapping of Frodo’s buttocks on the Estel’s thighs reaching a feverish pitch. “Frodo….” Estel gasped, though his mind was clouded with his impending climax, he was no less worried about the obvious pain he was inflicting on the one he loved. Estel came with a strangled cry filling Frodo until semen leaked from the hobbit’s canal.

Frodo fell to the side with a grunt as Estel carefully withdrew from the smaller body. His penis was coated in bright red blood and, in a panic, he quickly parted Frodo’s legs and examined the hobbit’s rectum. He inserted a finger and Frodo arched against him, crying out. When he withdrew his finger it was bloody, and he scowled down at the hobbit. “Why would you do such a foolish thing?” He growled. “You could have seriously injured yourself.”

Frodo only stared up at him. “I had to show you,” he whispered. Estel stared down at him, confused. “I had to show you that you needed me. You need me with you, Estel.” Frodo’s eyes drifted closed and as he licked his lips, “Again… I want to go again, Estel,” Frodo said quietly. Frodo lightly ran his fingers up Estel’s arm and across his chest, softly caressing the man’s naked skin.

Estel drew back with a growl. Who was this insatiable being? He thought to himself, frowning. “No,” he said. There was pity writ on his face and Frodo turned over, unable to face him. “You are injured. Let me put some balm on the abrasions,” Estel said softly.

“There is no need. I am fine. Go to sleep, Estel,” Frodo said quietly.

Estel began to protest, but each time he reached for Frodo, Frodo would push him away. Finally, Estel curled up on his side and pulled Frodo to him. Although Frodo feigned sleep, he could feel Frodo’s chest hitching with suppressed sobs. He placed his hand on Frodo’s head, gently working his fingers through the still damp hair. Eventually Frodo’s sobs subsided and he succumbed to sleep.

Estel was not so lucky. He lay awake long into the night thinking and worrying about his lover.

 

TBC


	16. Down the Hill

The figure trudged slowly through the deepening snow wondering, not for the first time, about the unusual winter the Shire was having. She stumbled, righting herself at the last second, uttering a most unladylike curse that would have had the Gaffer boxing her ears, should he have overheard. She was glad that at the last moment, she had chosen the heavier cloak that had been her mother’s instead of her own thinner one. She pulled the hood lower over face, taking in the faint scent of lilac water that had been her mother’s favorite. The swirling snow cut across her face like so many stinging needles, her eyes watering as small rivulets of tears froze on her face as the memory of her mother’s death resurfaced. She redistributed her burden, switching the basket to the other hand, finally arrived at Bag End’s gate. She could have easily been mistaken for a ghost of some long dead maid roaming the Hobbiton hillside instead of the same young hobbitess on the same thrice daily errand. It had originally started as a simple visit of an occasional meal delivered ‘just in case’, to an errand of necessity. If even a single day were missed, she didn’t know what she would have happened upon but knew it would have been nothing short of calamity. She grimaced, remembering the last time she had been delayed and unable to check on Sam. He had gone outside to fetch water from the well, slipped on the stones and hit his head. She did not know how long he had lain there before she’d come along. Truly it *had* been something that could have happened to anyone but for the fact that *normally* Sam had the walks cleared and salted for Mr. Frodo. It was yet another of the duties that had fallen by the wayside so that he could stare up at the mountain, knowing that if he did not, Mr. Frodo would suddenly appear and he would be caught unawares.

A faint glow shown from Bag End’s windows and on the stoop a lone lantern burned, its flame guttering as it was buffeted by the icy wind. Sam kept a lit lantern burning all of the time, even during the daylight gloom, anymore. Under the eaves sat a lump, leaning against the smial, eyes closed in sleep and wrapped in a heavy layer of blankets. Daisy cursed again and hurried to the figure.

“Samwise Gamgee, you ninnyhammer, get up this instant!” She shouted.

Sam jumped at the sound of her voice, his eyes snapping open. He smiled wanly up at her and slowly rose. She opened the green door angrily and pulled him inside.

“You must be touched in the head, I swear,” she growled, hanging her cloak roughly on the peg. She stormed down the hallway and into the kitchen dropping her basket angrily onto the table. She threw back the heavy cloth that protected the hot dishes. They were now only lukewarm but she was unconcerned, knowing the contents would likely go uneaten anyway. She sighed and swiped tears of frustration from her face. How had their lives gone from simple everyday contentment to anguish and chaos, she wondered.

She glanced up, seeing Sam standing in the doorway still wrapped in the heavy blankets, watching her closely. She took in his appearance in a glance. ‘Too thin by far,’ she thought to herself. ‘He looks like he’s aged 10 years he’s so worried about the Master.’ She plunged a knife angrily into the baked ham.

“You’ll do him no good by making yourself sick,’ she muttered.

“I just wanted to keep an eye out for a bit. ‘Musta’ fallen asleep,” Sam said with a sigh. “Where *is* he, Daisy? Master Frodo’s letter came weeks ago. He shoulda’, been back by now,” Sam whispered.

Daisy angrily set the dishes down with a clatter. “His nibs will likely show up in the middle of the night, I reckon. If he *knew* what he’s done to you, Sam, I think he’d be fare sorry, he would. Why, you just wait till he gets back. He’ll get a piece o’ my mind to be sure,” she growled.

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Daisy, Yer talkin’ about *Master Frodo*! How can you say such things? Why, he coulda’, been on his way and got injured or hurt in a bad way…” Sam looked panicked at the very idea.

Daisy dished out the candied yams with a ‘slop’. “A bad way?” She said angrily, her face reddening and her eyes flashing. Sam knew from experience not to interrupt Daisy when she got that look. It was akin to taking honey from a beehive… best to wait it out and stay clear for the time being. Daisy’s temper was legendary in the Shire and no one wanted to be the focus of her ire. “A bad way?” She repeated shrilly. “Look at *you*, Samwise Gamgee. Now tha’s a hobbit in a bad way, if I ever seen one!” She gestured angrily with her spoon splattering yams on the floor and table. “You, *you* deserve better, little brother. Like as not he’s fine, by the sound o’ his letter, jes’ delayed. But you Samwise sit about, pining for Hisself, thin as a rail, you are. And have you looked in a mirror? Dark circles under yer eyes, worry lines all over yer face? I care for Mr. Frodo as much as anyone, Samwise, but I care for you more. How do you think it makes me feel to see you wastin’ away waitin’ for ‘em?” She turned quickly so as Sam wouldn’t see the tears that clouded her vision.

Sam crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh now, Daisy, yer exaggerating jes a bit to be sure. Why, I’m fit as a fiddle and I was jes hopin’ you were on yer way with a bite. What if I take thirds of this lovely meal that you’ve brought and then turn in for a bit? Would that help, Daisy? I’m sorry I’ve been such a half wise hobbit, my dear. I’m just that worried about him. You’re right, o’ course. I’m sure he’s fine as can be and here I am livin’ up to me name. I promise to be better Daisy, jes’ don’t be angry with Mr. Frodo, lass.”

Daisy filled a kettle and placed it to the side of the sink, her back still turned. “Ye promise, Sam? Ye promise to eat better and get some sleep?” She whispered hoarsely.

“I do, Daisy mine. I promise,” Sam said patting her back.

“Well then, I bes’ get these plates filled,” she said briskly, turning back to the table. She began to slice and butter the bread, cut off chunks of the pork roast and dish out ample servings of her special cinnamon applesauce to the already burgeoning plate. She set it in front of Sam and he began to eat with true gusto.

“It’s a feast, to be sure. Thank you, Daisy mine,”

Daisy smiled and released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Sam *did* look as if he were enjoying the meal. ‘Perhaps he will keep his promise, this time,” she thought. She dished out her own plate and took a seat across from her little brother. Soon she was relating the local gossip as Sam listened with interest, chuckling at some funny bit every now and then. Afterwards Sam insisted Daisy stay the night, not wanting her to have to fight the storm to get back to Number Three. Across the hall, she slept fitfully, the door left open to ensure that her brother kept his promise.

****

It was late. Frodo could tell by the way that the embers were falling away from the banked log. He rolled over towards Estel and snuggled up against him. Slowly he began to remove the ranger’s leggings, moving his own naked body up over the prone figure. Estel, still exhausted from the days’ struggles remained asleep, though he grunted and made a grabbing gesture towards his hip. Frodo smiled. If anything would convince the ranger to include him on the next leg of his journey, it would be this. Yes, a hobbit could cook a mighty meal out of practically nothing, but seduction and lovemaking were also renowned amongst the culture.

After Estel settled, Frodo resumed the gentle tugging on the leggings until they were free of Estel’s body. He crept up, settling himself comfortably across Estel’s groin and grasped the man’s currently flaccid member. Just touching it made Frodo’s body tingle pleasantly and the organ responded in kind. Estel groaned and tossed his head, possibly believing he was locked within an erotic dream. Frodo began to slowly pump the man’s organ until it stood erect over Estel’s sack. The sack itself had become taut and hard as Frodo settled himself over the penis, impaling his body with a muffled grunt of pain.

Slowly he began to raise and lower himself, driving the ranger’s organ deeper within his body until Frodo’s buttocks began to make a slapping sound as they touched the man’s thighs. Estel’s eyes were open now, although he looked dazed and confused about whether what he was experiencing was real or imagined. He groaned as he tossed his head back, bringing his knees up to support Frodo’s perspiring back. Frodo thrust himself down upon Estel harder and harder, each penetration a combined fiery stab of pain and need. He *needed* it to hurt, to remind him of this very real moment, burned into his brain so that he could always carry it with him, always having it to remember their love. He reveled in each thrust and the increasing depth of penetration, knowing that this would be something soon taken from him. The thought of separation drove him into a frenzy as he sank deeper and harder onto Estel’s body. Estel reached up, placing his hands on Frodo’s hips in an attempt to stop Frodo’s movements: knowing that he was hurting and possibly injuring his lover. But his climax had begun to crest and he soon found how quickly physical need could override rational thought. Frodo’s head was thrown back, perspiration plastering his hair to his forehead, his face a mixture of pain and ecstasy. Suddenly he arched his back, a particularly painful thrust downward causing him to cry out and climax at the same time. Estel’s body responded in kind, culminating in a mixture of sweat and semen and the urgent whispers of the other’s name.

Frodo’s body slumped forward over Estel’s chest, the ranger’s penis still firmly implanted deep within his body as small aftershocks from Estel’s body spasmed through Frodo, causing the hobbit to whimper.

Estel’s mind reeled at what had just happened. What *had* just happened? He had been molested by a hobbit…a thought that almost made him laugh aloud but instead, he felt a burning anger steadily building in his chest. What had caused Frodo to act more like a wild animal than the shy and bookish hobbit from the Shire? He thought he knew the answer but was furious at Frodo nonetheless, for causing himself almost certain injury.

Estel extracted himself from the hobbit causing Frodo to cry out softly. He rolled out from beneath the him and crossed to the fire, making a pretense of placing another log on the now dying embers.

“Would you care to explain yourself, Master Hobbit?” Estel whispered menacingly.

Frodo squirmed. He had been around Estel long enough to know that when the terms ‘Master Hobbit’ or ‘Master Baggins’ were used that the ranger was struggling to control his irritation. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean,” Frodo replied levelly. “I felt the need to be near you and thought that you would share these feelings, I apologize if I presumed too much.” He slowly rolled onto his side away from the fire, hoping that the action would terminate any further questions from the obviously angry ranger.

“I would never deny you, you know this. My body is yours whenever you desire it. I also would hope the same of yours. However this, *this* was brutal, barbaric almost…there was little in the way of ‘love’ only lust and being *used* to satisfy some deep-seated itch. I would have been more than pleased to have given myself, and taken from you in equal measure without causing you pain. No… there is more to this than you say…why, Frodo? Why this almost feral need? It is something you have experienced before, only with you on the receiving end, if you will recall.” Estel winced. The statement was out of his mouth before he knew it and he knew it would cause great pain to the hobbit, refreshing a memory they had worked so hard to erase. He had not meant to be so unkind, but his anger had spoken for him before he could squelch the thought. He saw the hobbit’s body stiffen. “Frodo, I am sorry. I did not mean to…”

“Estel, I am quite tired. Perhaps we could discuss this in the morning,” Frodo said flatly. He pulled a blanket up over his naked body and closed his eyes.

“Of course…the morning then,” Estel said quietly. He crept back to the small mound of blankets and covered himself, pulling a resisting Frodo towards him. In the end, the hobbit acquiesced to Estel’s soothing murmurs, whispered apologies, and allowed the ranger to pull him onto his chest and cover him in extra blankets.

 

Estel awoke with a start. Something had caused him to stir and he listened closely to the quiet of the cave and the occasional snap of the dieing fire. A whimper. He slowly rolled Frodo onto his back and looked into the hobbit’s face. Frodo’s forehead was drawn into a frown, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Frodo, are you in pain?” Estel whispered. Frodo’s eyes crept open. “It is just the aches and pains from riding a horse,” he said as he slowly rolled over. A sharp gasp escaped his lips before it could be squelched.

“I see,” Estel said, one eyebrow lifting in disbelief. “I think it is more than that, my love. Shall we check how serious these ‘aches and pains’ really are?”

Frodo began to object but it was too late as Estel swept the blanket off, revealing his naked body. He turned Frodo gently onto his stomach and sighed, seeing the bloody backside.

“Why Frodo? Why would you do such a thing?” He murmured as he retrieved his salve and began to slowly apply it to the abrasions.

“I…ouch…it should be obvious, I would think,” Frodo gasped, trying to pull away. Estel’s hand lay firmly on his backside, preventing any movement.

“I suppose then, that you will have to put it in plain words, since I am so oblivious,” Estel said sarcastically. It was quiet for a long time and Estel had begun to wonder if Frodo would ever explain his actions of the night before.

“I am afraid that I am going to lose you, Estel… that you will not return to me. I could not bear it if you were injured or …killed…in your duties. I could not go on without you,” Frodo said softly.

Estel sat silent for many moments before carefully rolling Frodo onto his back and pulling the covers up over him, curling up so that his face was mere inches from Frodo’s. “I can only say that you have my promise, my sworn oath, to return to you. I cannot foresee the future but I am a skilled fighter and can be a worthy adversary to anyone I encounter”. Estel’s voice softened, “The thought of you waiting for my return, will make me strive harder to defend myself. Before I had nothing to fight for or return to, now I have you, my love. You must trust that if it is within my power, we will be reunited.”

“Take me with you. Please. I can take care of myself. I can…” Frodo’s choked, as tears began to trickle down his face.

Estel ran the back of his hand down the side of Frodo’s face, wiping the tears away, smiling sadly. “No, Frodo I cannot. I need to know that you are safe. If you came with me I would be unable to think of little else than protecting you. You shall stay with your Samwise and I will do my duty then return to you,” he said steadily.

Frodo could hear in Estel’s voice that there was little chance that the ranger would change his mind. He sighed sadly, as Estel pulled him into his arms. The ranger gently stroked Frodo’s back until the hobbit’s breathing became slow and steady. Only then did he allow himself to close his eyes and rest. The cave was quiet except for the steady breathing of the two companions and the occasional pop from the shifting embers.

When they awoke, the fire was cold and the cave frigid. Estel rose, quickly donning his clothing, and began coaxing a single ember to re-ignite the kindling. The fire caught and he began setting about preparing a breakfast of potatoes, mushrooms and slices of dried pork.

Frodo stirred, watching the man he had grown to love, going about his ablutions. Finally he rose, dressed, and walked quickly to the fire. The cave was still quite cold and he shivered under his cloak. They ate in silence then began gathering their things and loading Galest’s panniers.

“How far is it to Hobbiton?” Frodo asked quietly.

“Another day and night, at least,” Estel said. He avoided looking at Frodo, knowing he would see the pained expression on the hobbit’s face, and methodically began to roll up the bedding and repack his medicine bundle. Frodo had finished cleaning the cook pots and dishes and Estel gathered them up, taking them to Galest and tying them behind the saddle.

Estel scanned the cave, checking for anything they may have forgotten. He left the cave for a time then returned covered in snow with an armload of kindling and small branches. He piled these near the fire then turned to Frodo. “It is time to go, Frodo,” he said simply.

Frodo looked about the cave longingly. If only they could stay here…stay forever away from ‘duty’ and the rest of the world. “Very well,” he sighed.

“I will carry you on my lap so you will be more comfortable,” Estel said.

Frodo started to object but realized that he simply didn’t care any longer. They mounted, quit the cave as they descended the hillside, and resumed their journey south to Hobbiton. They rode in silence most of the day, Galest’s steady steps through the falling snow lulling Frodo into a doze. When Galest stopped the lack of movement woke him. He peeked out of the slicker, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the snowy surroundings. He looked up at Estel but the Ranger was looking straight ahead. “What is it, Estel?” he asked quietly, searching the landscape for any reason of why they had stopped.

“We have crossed the boundarys of the Shire,” Estel said steadily. “We will camp here,” he added.

Frodo scanned their surroundings again but could see no protection from the elements. He waited, expecting Estel to amaze him once again with another ranger hideout. Estel directed Galest to a copse of trees and dismounted, gently setting Frodo on his feet. Again, Frodo searched for some measure of protection from the cold. Seeing none, he looked quizzically up at Estel, who had a small smile on his face. “We are to camp in the open?” Frodo exclaimed.

“Not exactly, Frodo, but you are close in your guess,” The ranger grinned. “Are hobbits usually so soft that they cannot survive even the slightest hardship?” He asked playfully.

Indignant Frodo replied, “We are not *soft*, Ranger, nor are we daft enough to be buried alive under a blanket of snow,” he retorted.

“Ah, but there *is* shelter. You only have to look for it.”

Frodo looked around dubiously, seeing nothing but trees and snow. “And when snow is falling the temperature seldom drops low enough that we would freeze because of the cloud cover,” Estel countered. The man took the panniers off Galest and bending nearly double, moved under an opening in the copse of pines. Frodo, his curiosity peaked, followed. He entered an area that had escaped the fallen snow and was cushioned by spent needles from previous seasons. The area was large … large enough for Galest to be sheltered as well.

Frodo looked up and saw that the pines had leaned inward as they had grown, almost blocking the blizzard from entrance. He smiled widely. “You never cease to amaze me, Ranger. I have hidden beneath these types of spots before, but never one this large. Is this another of your *secret* ranger hideouts?”

Estel smiled. “As a matter of course, it is. When we are on the borders of the Shire we must not only be wary of human intruders, but mindful of your ‘bounders’ seeing us and sounding an alarm.”

Frodo looked surprised. “I had never thought of that. Yet, bounders are spaced leagues apart from one another as there are so few.”

“That may change,” Estel said under his breath.

“Pardon me?” Frodo asked, not catching the ranger’s reply.

“Nothing, Frodo. Let’s finish unburdening Galest and lay out our bedding and cooking supplies, what say you?” Estel said, changing the subject.

At the sound of the word “cooking”, Frodo’s eyes lit up, imagining a hot cup of tea. They left the shelter and Estel pulled an obstinate Galest back through the small opening. Once inside, the mare relaxed and snorted at Estel as if to say, ‘well, you could have *told* me your intentions.’ Estel grinned at the horse, patting her side. Soon, the supplies were unloaded and the bedding arranged over a deep mat of pine needles. Estel cleared a spot in the soil and retrieving rocks from outside the shelter, laid them in the opening. Frodo watched with interest. Hobbits seldom traveled in winter and when they did, they rode in wagons and stayed at inns. If caught in a storm they were forced to find shelter such as this one, but almost never were able to have a fire. Estel gathered tinder from the dead-fall of previous seasons. Soon he had a small blaze going.

“Do you think that it’s safe to have a fire here under the trees?” Frodo asked worriedly.

Estel smiled. “One only needs to dig a pit first whilst removing all debris from the spot. Then rocks are placed within it, covering the opening and protecting the soil. Once this is complete, a small fire may be kindled. It is safe and will not harm the trees so long as the pit is away from the trunks and roots, and the blaze a low one. He went over to the nearest tree and laid his hand on the trunk, bending over pretending to go through his supplies. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the thrum of life coursing through the tree. He felt a quiet and soft sensation. The trees were unafraid and accepting of the fire. He smiled. “I only wish to make you comfortable, my soft little hobbit.” He could not help but chuckle seeing the indignant expression on Frodo’s face.

“Take care, Ranger, or *you* will not receive *your* comforts this night,” Frodo warned with a smile. Estel’s only reply was to lustfully rake his eyes over the hobbit’s body. Frodo squirmed under the ranger’s scrutiny, feeling himself unconsciously harden. He blushed and turned towards the fire as he pulled pans and utensils from his pack.

A short time later a low fire burned brightly in the small pit and water simmered in a kettle for tea. Another pot bubbled as Frodo added sliced carrots, parsnips, potatoes and dried meat to it. He noted that his supply of spices was diminishing, but he still had salt and a red pepper that he was not acquainted with, but it always added a spicy flavor to any soup. He added a spare pinch of the herbs, hoping it would be enough to add flavor to the stew. He added the tea leaves into the other pot and waited impatiently as the brew steeped. Estel had been constructing a thick layer of pine needles for their bed. He laid their blankets on it and stood back to survey his work. Satisfied, he joined Frodo at the fire. Frodo handed him a cup of tea and poured one for himself. They sat, both looking into the fire, for some time. Neither spoke. They had already said all that needed to be said and it had left both of them feeling contemplative and helpless.

Frodo dished out the stew and they ate in silence. “This is excellent stew, Frodo. However are you able to create such delicious meals with what little we carry with us?” Estel asked in wonder.

Frodo grinned. “Hobbits are very good at making a sumptuous meal out of thin air, don’t you know?” he giggled. “You must understand that eating is our number one priority and that means making do with whatever we have on hand.”

Estel smiled, then his expression turned serious. “I generally eat as I ride, not taking the time for meals as it is only myself that I have to feed.” He looked over at Frodo. “I shall miss, not only the delicious fare, but the companionship and love with which you prepare the meals. You are always conscious of my needs.”

Frodo’s gaze found the fire, hoping the warmth of the small blaze would dry his tears. “You must promise me that you will try to eat better. I shall worry about your health otherwise. It is important to me that you come back to me whole and hardy,” he whispered. He rose quickly, gathering the empty stew pot and walked outside to fill it with snow so that he could wash the dishes before they slept. When he returned, he had control of his emotions. He smiled when he saw that Estel had filled each of their pipes for their substitute of ‘filling up the corners.’ Frodo had found he much preferred smoking his pipe with Estel than the standard hobbit tradition of eating small pastries or cakes after a meal.

He placed the snow on the fire to melt and took the proffered pipe. He sat down in his favorite spot—between Estel’s thighs leaning against the Ranger’s chest, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply the calming smoke. A companionable silence filled the small shelter. After the pipes were spent, Estel gently lifted Frodo in his arms and carried him to the nest of blankets. Slowly and methodically, he stripped the hobbit of his clothing. Frodo laid quiescent, content to enjoy the feeling of being tenderly cared for. Finally divested of his clothing, he lay fully erect under Estel’s lustful gaze. Estel stripped quickly and lay down beside him, pulling the blankets over both of them. He began to slowly run his mouth over the hobbit’s body, suckling here then there, until Frodo was writhing under his touch. Estel ran his tongue down Frodo’s chest until his mouth encountered the hobbit’s erect organ. Frodo moaned loudly as Estel blew a warm breath over the head of the penis.

“Estel, please, I cannot hold it much longer. Enter me, please, and let me share with your body!” Frodo cried out.

“No, Master hobbit, not just yet. I wish to savor every moment of your beautiful body. There will be time enough later, for other encounters. But for now, it is all about the taste and the warmth of you as you fill me with your very essence.” Estel blew a breath over the organ again.

Frodo groaned in desire, writhing and grabbing at the ranger. Estel dodged out of reach, allowing Frodo’s hands to finally rest on his head as Estel increased the fervor of his administrations. Estel suckled the sack, pulling it into his mouth and savoring the musk of the tightened balls. Frodo groaned loudly, arching up even as he pressed the ranger’s head down. Estel released the sack and took Frodo’s erect organ into his mouth. Frodo cried out pumping up into the ranger’s throat. Estel suckled, placing his hands under Frodo’s buttocks, sucking in the sack and the penis, and plunging his face up and down over the near hysterical hobbit. Frodo clutched convulsively at Estel’s hair as the vacuum created by the ranger’s mouth pulled him towards orgasm. Estel continued to press down onto the hobbit’s body, sucking even after Frodo’s body began to tremble in aftershock. Only when he was sure that he had swallowed each precious drop of semen did he slowly withdraw his mouth from the organ. Frodo was shaking with the magnitude of his orgasm. Estel rained light kisses up along Frodo’s body until he finally reached the hobbit’s mouth. He kissed Frodo urgently, sucking the smaller tongue into his mouth. He ran his tongue over and around Frodo’s, unwilling to end the lovemaking.

Frodo pulled back and looked into Estel’s face with a smile. “My Ranger seems a bit randy tonight. I would like to pleasure *you* now, my love.”

Estel slowly pushed Frodo’s hair back from his forehead, memorizing every detail of the porcelain face. “No Frodo, tonight is my gift to you. I wish to cherish your body as much as you will allow this night. That will far surpass any climax I might otherwise experience.” As he spoke, he ran his fingers whisper soft along the hip and torso of the hobbit.

Frodo’s eyes widened. “All night? Do you think you can fill my needs in *only* one night, Ranger?” Frodo grinned.

Estel smiled. “I intend to give it my best effort, hobbit. I am going to take you to the edge and then withdraw until I have you begging for mercy.” Frodo started to speak, but Estel had taken his mouth with a passionate kiss. He closed his eyes as his body stirred in desire. Estel moved his kisses back down the hobbit’s body. Finding the treasured organ, he sucked it into his mouth. He slowly swiveled his body so that he lay over Frodo’s body with the hobbit’s head under the man’stomach. Frodo, seeing his chance to give *and* receive pleasure, placed his hands around Estel’s backside, pulling the man’s organ down into his mouth. Estel cried out, momentarily drawing back from his ablutions and arching his neck as the sensation of a warm mouth enveloped him. He leaned down, swallowing Frodo whole, causing Frodo to moan in pleasure. Soon all that could be heard in the small shelter was the sound of suckling as they lovingly nursed at one another. This changed as they came closer and closer to climax. A mixture of groaning and urgent panting replaced the relative quiet, until finally cries and whimpers were shouted beneath the trees.

Estel turned and crawled back under the blankets, placing himself beside a panting, sated Frodo. Frodo looked at him carefully. “I have never experienced that particular position before, Ranger. Perhaps you *could* teach an old hobbit a trick or two,” Frodo smirked.

“Old hobbit, indeed.” Estel harrumphed. “I have many such *tricks* that I would be more than happy to demonstrate *on* you, my dear,” Estel replied with a yawn.

“Perhaps we can continue this discussion after a much needed rest bit. What say you, my love?”

“An excellent proposition. I promise to wake you after you have had a chance to regain your strength,” Estel snickered.

Frodo snorted. “Regain my strength indeed. Why, I could out last you many times over, you silly man,” he grumped even as his eyes slipped closed and he began to quietly snore.

Estel smiled and ran a finger down the side of his beloved’s face. “I have no doubt about that, my dear, dear hobbit,” he murmured and pulled Frodo protectively against his torso.

The next day both awoke bleary eyed and sore, but smiling. After a light breakfast of dried fruit and tea, they gathered their belongings and loaded them onto Galest. As they brushed past each other, the occasional kiss or touch reminded them of the previous night’s activities. The packing complete, Frodo gave the shelter one last longing glance as he was helped up onto Galest’s back. The unending snowfall had continued, and Frodo found himself, once again, secreted in his warm nest under a blanket and Estel’s slicker and held snuggled against Estel’s abdomen. Soon the rocking motion of Galest’s steps lulled him sleep.

Frodo awoke when Galest’s steady movements stopped. He peeked out from beneath his cocoon and saw that the day had passed into dusk. A tired and snow covered Ranger sat above him staring sadly down a hill. Frodo felt a wave of guilt for having slept the day away whilst his companion had had to endure the elements alone. Frodo slowly removed the coverings and followed Estel’s gaze. He was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of longing and foreboding at what he saw. He looked back up into Estel’s face, which had turned and was watching his reaction with a look of deep sadness.

“Hobbiton,” Estel said simply. “We have arrived at your home, Frodo.”

TBC


	17. The Many Moods of Daisy Gamgee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no rights or ownership of these characters, they being solely the property of the Tolkien Estate, I only *wish* I did.  
> Synopsis: In our last chapter, our handsome Ranger and blue eyed Hobbit are challenging the elements and making their way to Hobbiton….  
> Rating is NC17  
> Frodo/Estel

They zigzagged slowly down the hillside, allowing Galest to find her footing through the deepening snow, eventually coming up behind Bag End. Estel knew that if curious eyes were to spot a man in the Shire it could cause quite the uproar. ‘As if anyone in their right mind would venture out on such a night,’ he thought. He noticed that Frodo’s body had tensed against his chest. He knew how his mate felt…the impending departure and subsequent parting weighed heavy on his mind.

Frodo’s mind raced as conflicting feelings assaulted him. The joy of returning to the Shire and the excitement of seeing Sam again warred with the feelings of dread should Estel not return from his duties. His heart rate increased as they soundlessly approached the rear of Bag End. He directed Estel to the barn where the much smaller ponies and trap were housed. Galest seemed happy to see some of her own kind and the ponies nickered as she was stalled. Estel lowered Frodo to the ground and the hobbit turned anxious eyes up at him. Estel looked sadly down at him. Frodo desperately grasped at the man’s boot. “You *promised* you would stay the night! You *promised*”! His voice broke on the last word.

Estel started, then smiled down at him before dismounting. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Frodo. I was merely lost in thought for a moment”. He crouched, facing the love of his life. “Frodo, our parting must occur. I wish that our remaining time together this night not be filled with sadness and fear, but of the loving and the joy of being together,” he whispered.

“Of course you’re right, Estel. I wish, almost, that I did not love you as much as I do. Perhaps then the thought of you leaving would not cut so deeply.” Frodo smiled wistfully at Estel. Tears stood in his eyes as he reached over and carefully brushed a lock of wet hair from the man’s forehead.

“I would never wish such a thing. I cannot imagine feeling as I do for another. I would still be that empty shell of a man, that ranger that you met months ago. I regret nothing and wish for everything. You must have faith that we will be reunited. I *will* return to you…I *will*”! Estel hoped with all his heart that he could honor the pledge.

Frodo smiled wider. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Ranger. Tonight will be one of love, joy, and reunion. Speaking of which, we should go in and finally relieve Sam’s worry. I saw that he had lanterns on the porch, proving that none of his unease has abated, despite my letter.”

“Not just yet, Frodo”, Estel said with a sly smile.

“You assume much, Ranger, as usual”, Frodo grinned as he began to unbuckle Galest’s saddle so Estel could lift it off. Large hands grabbed him from behind causing him to gasp even though he had expected some reaction from the ranger.

“Not so fast, Hobbit,” Estel said huskily. He pulled Frodo to him, covering the bow-shaped mouth with his own, wishing he could remain forever thus, exploring the warm mouth gently as he tasted its sweetness. He stood, still locked in what had become a fevered kiss, carrying Frodo to a pile of fragrant hay. He pulled back, searching and memorizing the beloved face and began to slowly divest Frodo of his clothing, slapping away smaller hands that tried to help.

Estel started at the toes massaging each slowly, and then placed a loving kiss on each. Frodo moaned in pleasure. Estel moved to the arch of the foot running his tongue leisurely over it, then the ankle, sucking on the small bone, and on up the calf. Each area was given his undivided attention, no spot escaping adoration. Frodo began to writhe in anticipation.

“Estel, please,” he moaned.

“All in due time, Frodo,” Estel said, releasing a warm puff of breath on the freshly laved area, causing Frodo to shudder. The knees were given extensive attention to detail. Estel slowly ran his fingertips up the inside of Frodo’s thigh, just touching the tight sac.

“Estel, please, you are killing me!” Frodo exclaimed, sounding as if this were truly the case.

Estel grinned; closing his eyes, and ran his tongue slowly up the thigh. Frodo groaned and tried to inch down towards Estel but the man would have none of it, holding the smaller body firmly in place. Frodo whined in frustration as he tossed his head back and bucked his body up towards the man. Estel barely noticed; he was completely lost to the sensations of the moment. As his tongue finally reached its goal, he lathed the balls thoroughly, sucking them both into his mouth. He sucked furiously, oblivious to all else, pulling and rutting as a newborn to a teat. Frodo grabbed Estel’s head, trying to guide it to his weeping organ, but the man was undeterred, only burying his face deeper into Frodo’s groin. Just as Frodo was sure his climax was eminent, the ranger pulled away suddenly. Frodo yelped involuntarily and uttered a curse, almost weeping in frustration. He opened his eyes and looked up at the man who knelt above him. A wicked grin covered Estel’s face as the ranger looked back at him. A chill went through Frodo and his penis gave a twitch. Then Estel fell upon him in a ravenous frenzy. He swallowed Frodo’s penis to the hilt and began to nurse. There was no sound as the ranger’s mouth and throat worked, a vacuum sealing his lips completely about the organ. Frodo cried out at the sensation of being swallowed whole. Warmth encompassed him and his eyes rolled back as he thrust upward. Estel stilled him and strengthened his lock on the organ. Other than Frodo’s cries, there were only the sound of Estel’s grunts of pleasure. The climax was sudden and forceful, but still Estel did not break his hold over Frodo’s body.

Frodo cried out as he held his hips up thrusting into Estel’s mouth, Estel’s hands on Frodo’s buttocks, pulling as much of the hobbit into his mouth as possible. Frodo jerked as the post-coital shocks overwhelmed his nervous system. Estel continued to nurse on Frodo’s penis even though Frodo’s body jerked and spasmed and he tried to push the man away. The ranger was undeterred, only burrowing deeper into the soft pubic hair. Frodo’s vision dimmed as the sensation threatened to over stimulate nerve endings. Then he felt himself begin to harden once again and heard a grunt of approval from the hungry ranger. Frodo, his penis locked by the vacuum of Estel’s mouth with the ranger’s throat muscles nursing, felt the crest of a second climax rushing towards fruition. He cried out as he crested the second time, Estel swallowing each drop as if it were sweet honey. After giving the spent organ a last loving lick, Estel withdrew and crawled up over Frodo, tenderly kissing the beloved face.

“I”, Frodo panted, “I did not know such a thing were possible”, he gasped.

“It is said that only those who love deeply and passionately are given such a gift. They are bound together, one being, one heart, never to be separated in this world or the next”, Estel whispered.

Frodo’s eyes peered deeply into Estel’s. “Is this true, or are you just saying it is so because we both wish it so deeply?” Frodo asked his voice breaking.

“It is true,” Estel whispered. He knew not of any such tale, but felt in his heart that it was true.

Frodo smiled at him lovingly. “I believe it as well, Estel,” he whispered, reaching up and bringing his lips to the ranger’s. They held the kiss for many moments, and then slowly parted. “Estel, are you happy to see me or is that your sword jabbing me in the leg?” Frodo giggled.

Estel chuckled. “I *am* happy to see you my love, but will take my own *extensive* pleasure with you later.”

Frodo’s eyebrows rose, “I am intrigued but if we don’t get out of this hay I may force your hand”. Estel’s eyebrows rose as well, and he laughed a hearty, deep laugh that warmed Frodo’s heart. Estel jumped up, tousling Frodo’s hair and dislodging the remaining pieces of hay, receiving a disparaging look in return. Frodo collected his clothing and dressed then they finished unloading Galest, who snorted at them as if to say ‘well, it’s about time.’ Estel wiped and curried her, then stocked her trough with a hearty portion of hay. Placated, the horse bent to the task of eating. They gathered their possessions and quit the barn, securing the door behind them. They trudged slowly towards the lights of Bag End. The wind whipped and tore at their clothing as the snow swirled and covered them, even in the short distance to Bag End’s porch. The lanterns sat appearing more like silent sentinels, on each side of the porch steps, long blown out from the gale.

Frodo stood facing the door, for a long time. Estel watched his face, seeing only confusion. “What troubles you, Frodo?”

Frodo looked up at the man. “I was wondering whether to knock or simply enter,” he said seriously.

Estel laughed softly. “Is not Bag End yours or is it your friend Sam’s?”

Frodo smiled, now certain of what to do and, grasping the center knob, opened the door allowing them entrance into the foyer.  
*****************************************************************************************  
It was Daisy who heard the door open, followed by stamping feet. She rose slowly knowing that no one in his or her right mind would be out on a night such as this. Sam, his stomach full and warmed by the fire, had slipped into a doze. She grasped the broom from the wall and slowly crept around the corner, approaching the door. A man, bent nearly double, stood in the entry, shaking the snow from his slicker and hanging it on a peg. It hung to the floor, leaving a sizable pool of melting snow in its wake. Incensed at the nerve of this person entering Mr. Frodo’s home in addition to creating a slushy mess on her freshly washed and waxed floor, Daisy rushed forward, jabbing the man soundly in his stomach with the broom handle.

“Oooph”, he breathed, bending over even further. He swiveled his gaze on the hobbitess, and Daisy drew back, a chill running down her spine. The man was shaggy and had a dangerous look about him. He glared at her, then his gaze softened as he saw who had jabbed him and with what had inflicted the blow. He smirked.

“Mistress, I assure you…” he began.

“OUT, Out with ya,” Daisy exclaimed. How dare he *smirk* at her as if she were no real threat. Anyone in Hobbiton could tell him otherwise. She prodded at him with the broom, worried that the man would lose patience and turn on her like a bear, but still feeling as if she could, and would, defend her position despite his superior size. “I don’t need yer a’surrin’! Yer kind ain’t welcome here. I’d allow you ta sleep in the barn the night as I know Mr. Frodo would do as much, and then be gone at first light”. She tried to sound stern, but her voice broke. The man could easily overpower her if he wished, and she was suddenly aware of her situation what with Sam almost an invalid and she being a much smaller foe, even if she was feisty like all of Hobbiton said.

Frodo had stood behind the man, listening to the exchange in amusement. The jab to Estel’s chest had almost caused him to laugh aloud. He rounded the man and crossed to a surprised Daisy.

“Now Daisy, is that any way to greet a guest of mine?” He grinned and brought her to him in a loving hug. She went limp with surprise as the broom fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Mr. Frodo! Oh, you are chilled to the bone…it’s so good to see you…you look well enough…oh your Sam is a fright, so worried he’s been…HOW DARE YOU BEING GONE SO LONG!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Do you know what you’ve done to Sam? I know I’m bein’ above my station, but I’d be slappin’ you twer you anyone but the Master, I would.” She pushed a shocked Frodo away from her.

“Sam, he’s all right, isn’t he? I…I could not help it, truly Daisy,” he stammered.

Her expression softened a bit. “It’s jes that I’ve had to watch Sam fairly wither away to nothin’, Mr. Frodo,” she murmured, somewhat apologetically. Frodo’s expression became alarmed as concern for Sam mounted. His gaze darted about the room in search for his friend.

“Daisy who are you talkin’ to and what is all the racket about?”

Frodo looked over Daisy’s shoulder at the barely recognizable shell of his dear friend and gardener. “Sam”, he breathed in a rush. He ran to the blanket wrapped figure. Sam froze in place, his eyes widening as his face blanched of all color.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam whispered.

“Dear, dear Sam, what have I done to you?” Frodo exclaimed as he clutched his friend to his chest.

Sam dropped the blanket and hugged Frodo to him. “It *is* you! I thought I would never lay eyes on you again. I’d near given up all hope,” Sam exclaimed. His voice broke as he wept for joy.

“Oh, Sam, I am so sorry”, Frodo’s face was wet with tears. He grasped Sam’s face in his hands and looked into the tear filled hazel eyes. “You know I would never intentionally cause you grief, you are far too dear to me,” he said earnestly. He stroked Sam’s damp curls with affection.

“Never you mind, Mr. Frodo. It weren’t as bad as all that,” Sam said softly. Frodo heard a huff, as Daisy bristled at the last statement.

‘How ever will I make this up to her and most of all, dear Sam,’ Frodo worried.

Sam lifted his eyes to his Master’s face then, over Frodo’s head, he saw, peering worriedly back at him, a scruffy, unshaven man. “Wha…?” he started. “Mr. Frodo, there’s a *man* behind you!” he whispered urgently in Frodo’s ear. For the first time he saw that Daisy had the stranger pinned not only with her gaze, but with a broom handle firmly grasped in her hands.

Estel heard the whispered comment to Frodo and a small smile touched his lips.

Frodo grinned. “Yes Sam. Allow me to introduce my very dear friend Estel…” Frodo turned to Estel with a quizzical look. “Estel, what is your last name? Do you not have a second name?”

Estel smiled, thinking of the name he had forsaken. “Just Estel, Frodo.”

Frodo frowned, but turned back to Daisy and Sam. “Estel saved my life, Sam. He has become…more…more than *just* a friend to me…a companion.”

Sam looked affronted at the statement, but quickly hid his feelings about this stranger that undoubtedly held some strange power over his Master.

“…and these brave hobbits are my loyal friends, Daisy and Samwise Gamgee,” Frodo finished.

Both Daisy and Sam sputtered a bit. “Now there, Mr. Frodo, what would the Gaffer be sayin’ if’n he heard you?” Daisy turned towards Estel, “Mr. Frodo is the Master of Bag End and we’re his servants, is all,” she explained.

Frodo frowned. “Servants, bah…friends, I say and since I *am* the Master what I say is final,” he laughed. Daisy still looked uncertain but it was Sam that quickly held all eyes as he slowly sank to the floor.

Estel dodged past the wavering broom, to Sam’s side. “Easy Samwise, easy,” he murmured. Sam moaned then looked up at the stranger who now cradled him gently in his arms. The man’s eyes were soft with concern and the gardener realized then that his Master had been in no real danger while in the man’s company. Estel stood, lifting Sam with him and after a questioning look at Frodo, followed him to a large bedroom at the end of the hall. Estel laid the objecting hobbit on the large bed then glanced around the room, curious. It was ornately appointed with a ceiling tall enough to allow him to stand to his full height.

“…ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, Mr. Frodo, truly. I was jes a bit tired, is all. I feel fine now”,

Daisy was all a flutter as she fetched tea and scones and fluffed pillows making sure her sibling was comfortable.” Sam swatted at her in annoyance. Frodo smiled, obviously enjoying the fussing and Sam’s discomfiture. When Sam attempted to rise, however, Frodo gently pushed him back onto the pillows, the smile vanishing from his face. “No, my friend. It is because of my actions that you are in this predicament and I insist you stay put,” he said solemnly. Sam’s mouth flopped open in dismay and he started to object, but Frodo silenced him with a look. “Let Estel look at you, Sam. Truly you can trust him, you have my word.” Frodo’s expression was so filled with worry and concern that Sam nodded and slumped back onto the pillows.

Estel smiled down at Sam as the hobbit looked nervously up at him. The man was a tall and imposing figure, looking more ruffian than friend. Sam gulped.

Frodo touched Daisy on the shoulder and motioned towards the doorway. The lass looked anxiously from Frodo to Sam to the man then back to Frodo. Frodo smiled reassuringly and she left the room, grudgingly, as Frodo closed the door behind them.

Sam’s eyes widened when he realized he was to be left alone with the disheveled man and he pulled the covers up to his chin in a vain attempt to disappear. Estel smiled and sat gently on the edge of the bed. “No need to fear, Samwise. I am not here to accost you.”

Sam’s eyes flashed. “Jes why *are* you here, sir? ‘aven’t you done enough keepin’ me Master captive?” Sam was surprised both at the sound of his voice not only being disrespectful, but contemptuous. At that moment he realized just how much his Master’s disappearance had changed him. He felt ashamed of the outburst and flushed.

Estel’s smile waned and he looked at Sam sadly. “It was not I who kept Frodo captive, but the other way around,” he murmured. Sam looked confused. “Your Master has become by closest friend, Sam. I am sorry his absence took such a toll on you.” He smiled and pulled the cover back. “Here now, let’s look you over.”

Sam squeaked, “Back away! Don’t touch me!” He cried, breathing rapidly and batting at Estel’s hands. His face paled at the exertion and Estel captured his hands, rubbing them gently between his own.

“Calm yourself, Master Hobbit. I am not your enemy. I am a friend and only wish to give aid,” he whispered. Sam looked into the man’s face and seeing only concern, began to relax slightly. Estel smiled reassuringly and spoke softly as he began to examine Sam, telling him exactly what he was doing as he listen to Sam’s heart, took his pulse and pressed on his abdomen. “Rest now, devoted servant”, Estel said as he finished his examination, smiled and slowly rose so as not to startle the hobbit. He went to the door. Sam only relaxed after the ranger had left the room.

Daisy and Frodo rushed towards Estel. “Well? Is he all right?” Two voices asked in unison.

Estel smiled. “He is remarkably fit despite his appearance. He needs only rest and good food to make a total recovery. He will need to be kept abed, which, I believe, will be the hardest thing to do.” Two relieved sighs resounded.

“I cannot forgive myself for what he has been through”. Frodo sighed.

“Nonsense, Mr. Frodo. You heard yer, er…friend.” Daisy looked quickly over at the seated ranger. The man’s knees were drawn almost level with his eyes as he sat nervously on the divan, possibly thinking it would collapse under his weight at any moment. She smiled. “He’s jes exhausted. Now that you’re here and he can see for himself how fit you are, he’ll come back to himself quick enough.” Frodo looked back at her sadly. “Here now, I’ve fixed enough food for six hobbits and it’s getting’ cold as we speak. Let me jes’ warm it a bit and we’ll have supper,” she said with a pat to his arm. She scurried off to the kitchen as Estel motioned Frodo over to him.

“He really will be fine, Frodo,” the ranger murmured.

“That’s wonderful, truly, but it’s not what has upset me most.” Frodo looked deep into Estel’s eyes. “I should have known how my leaving would affect him. He has always been at my side, since he was a lad. I should have returned home sooner”, he lamented.

Estel pulled him closer, “You were physically unable to return sooner, Frodo. You did the best you could have done…writing to him and letting him know you were well. You must let it go and concentrate all your efforts to helping Sam to recover. That will be your compensation to him for being gone, whether you need to do it or not.” Estel squeezed Frodo’s hand gently.

Frodo gave him a dazzling smile. “Of course! You are brilliant, my Ranger.” He said, giving the Ranger a resounding kiss. “I will coddle him beyond measure while he recuperates. He will know no want,” Frodo exclaimed gleefully. Estel’s smile waned. This was not exactly how he had intended his remark. He worried that Frodo would exclude himself and his own health and direct all of his energies solely to the healing of Sam. However, if it would help keep Frodo occupied during Estel’s absence perhaps that would not be such a bad thing. He smiled as he listened to an animated Frodo chatter, not really hearing what was being said, but thoroughly enjoying the expressions and happiness that now radiated from the cherubic face.

TBC


	18. Painful Partings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.
> 
> I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of immersing myself in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.

It seemed to Estel that Frodo checked on Sam every quarter hour. Finally, when concern replaced bemusement, he assured Frodo that Sam would sleep comfortably through the night. Frodo looked sheepish. “I know, but I can’t help feeling such tremendous guilt over what he’s been through.”

“Would Samwise have worried even if you had written more often?” Estel asked quietly.

Frodo smirked. “I suppose he would have. He is quite protective of me—he has been since he was a lad. I imagine no matter what I would have done to reassure him, he would have been troubled.

Daisy entered the room with two glasses of warmed brandy. “Here now, somethin’ to shake off the last of your chills, I think”, she gave them a smile.

“Daisy, as Sam is always saying, you are a wonder. Whatever would he have done without you?” Frodo’ hand shook as he took the goblet and shuddered at the thought of Sam being all alone and what could have happened in the gardener’s current state.

Daisy’s eyes shot up to her Master. “Are ye alright, Mr. Frodo?” She said quickly. Estel’s eyes darted from the brandy in his hand to the face of his lover. In a glance, he took in Frodo’s face, the posture of his body and the shaking hands.

“I am fine, thank you Daisy.” Frodo said turning away and placing his hands in his lap. He gave her a smile, and expertly turned the conversation. “Lass, I want you to stay the night in the spare room. It is quite horrid outside and I will not have you trying to wade through this blizzard to get back to #3.”

Daisy tried to object but Frodo gave her a steely look and she knew that no argument would be brooked. “I will Mr. Frodo as long as I don’t have to sleep in Mr. Gandalf’s room. That large bed and chair gives me a chill. ‘Course I ‘spect Mr. Strider will be stayin’ in there so that shouldn’t be much of a problem, now will it?”

Frodo gave Strider a quick sidelong glimpse. Estel appeared to be studying a crack in the hearth tiles with great interest.

Frodo smiled at Daisy. She bustled out of the room to finish cleaning up the kitchen. Soon the clatter of china could be heard accompanied by a low hum.

Estel looked up at Frodo, with a broad grin. Frodo giggled. “I think we should turn in,” Estel said in a husky voice. Frodo felt his body instantly respond and another shiver raced through him, only this time it was one of need and desire.

“I suppose we should,” Frodo whispered. They walked down the hallway, Frodo in the lead, to Frodo’s bedroom. He giggled as he looked in at the beautifully appointed, if too small, hobbit sized bed and quietly closed the door. He looked up at Estel. “To keep them guessing,” he said with a grin. Estel quelled a chuckle.

Next, Frodo stopped at Sam’s door. Estel’s brow creased with worry. Frodo looked up at him, as if reading the ranger’s thoughts, “Indulge me”, he whispered. Estel smiled, thinking of all the possibilities of that simple sentence. Frodo cracked the door and he and Estel peered in. Sam had not even shifted his position, his face was clear of pain or worry and Frodo felt himself relax. He smiled up at Estel, closing the door with a snick, and then they continued down the hallway.

They entered Gandalf’s room and Estel discovered he could now stand to his full height. A soft comforter and fluffy pillows lay on the huge bed in the middle of the room. A table and two chairs sat by a large round window in the corner of the room. A fire crackled and popped, made ready for him by Daisy. Estel smiled. “It’s perfect,” he said. He closed the door and lifted Frodo, placing his mouth eagerly over the soft lips. He crushed the smaller body to his. Two strides was all it took to reach the bed. He placed Frodo roughly in the middle of the comforter and began to hurriedly tear the clothing from him. Estel’s need was contagious as Frodo helped push the offending garments off, and then began pulling at Estel’s leggings and tunic. Grunts and heavy breathing were all that could be heard in the room. The clothing thrown aside Estel crouched over Frodo’s torso like an attacking animal. He licked his fingers, whipping them over his organ, making it slick. He placed his penis at the opening and closed his eyes as he gently pushed forward. Frodo’s eyes slipped shut as he gripped both of Estel’s arms. Estel pushed to the hilt, his sac contracting against Frodo’s bottom.

The ranger groaned, his organ twitching inside the warm body. Frodo pushed up towards him, trying to achieve more penetration. Estel pulled almost completely out, making Frodo whimper, then he plunged forward. With a grunt, Estel began a slow rhythmic rocking, his eyes slipping half-closed, his mouth open slightly. Frodo’s body glistened with sweat, his brow furrowed in concentration. He arched up on each thrust, as Estel’s pumping increased in speed. Estel leaned over Frodo’s face and covered his mouth in a rough kiss. He licked over the warm lips then formed a tight seal over the hobbit’s lips, sucking hungrily. All the while, he continued to plunge into the tight opening. He broke off as climax neared, his body plunging deeply, his senses lost. He would have not been able to stop even if Frodo had asked it of him. Frodo bucked wildly against the ranger, pulling himself up until Estel’s balls slapped against him. He wrapped his legs about the man’s torso, opening himself even wider in order to take more of the man in. Now his body was tight against Estel’s, allowing the ranger no room to thrust. They rocked back and forth, the ranger sealed tight within Frodo’s body. Estel moaned as he strained within the body of his lover, feeling his penis twitch and his passion heightening. He tried to thrust as his orgasm overtook him. He shuddered violently, Frodo following suit, covering the man’s torso in cum. Frodo had tried to muffle his cries, but the orgasm had been intense and he had been unsuccessful. Estel had covered his mouth with his own, swallowing the loudest of Frodo’s cries. Panting and content Estel rolled to his back, pulling Frodo with him. They lay thus for a few moments, Estel still planted deep within Frodo’s body, each breathing in soft contented sighs, treasuring the feeling of the oneness their connected bodies shared.

“Again?” Frodo whispered, with a grin.

**********************************************************************************************  
Estel awoke to a gentle knocking. He took the room in with a glance, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. He relaxed when he remembered where he was. Frodo still lay atop him breathing slowly, his eyes darting about under the lids. He was dreaming. Estel wished he could see the strange imaginings that filled all dreams. All of these thoughts flashed through his mind in a second.

“Yes?” he called.

“’Jes wonderin’ if yer about. I’ve got yer breakfast warmed when yer ready, Mr. Strider.”

Estel quickly pulled the thick comforter over Frodo then bent his knees slightly to mask the hobbit’s body. ”Come in, Mistress Daisy”, he called after giving the bundle a last glance.  
Daisy opened the door averting her eyes and blushing, she fidgeted with her apron after setting a pot of tea and a china cup on the side table. “My apologies, Mr. Strider,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake ye but I didn’t know what a man’s habits were for breaking a fast. Hobbits can’t nearly wait for breakfast and since yer so much bigger, I thought as ye might be feeling a might peckish by now.” She risked a glance at the man and Estel smiled.

“Thank you kindly, Daisy”, the ranger said. Frodo yawned loudly and Estel pretended to yawn and stretch.

Daisy smiled. “I take it ye was comfortable?”

“Indeed. I am not used to such opulent accommodations,” Estel said, as he captured Frodo’s leg and squeezed lightly to quiet him. He felt Frodo’s body tense.

Daisy looked at him in confusion. “Don’t rightly know if’n it’s op-u-lant’ or not. Mr. Frodo’s beds are the finest in the Shire, I speck. The beds are so soft they’s hard to crawl out of. Mr. Frodo mus’ be right tuckered out. He didn’t even answer my knock. But he always was a bit of a late sleeper so I’ll let him rest a bit more.”

Strider grinned. “It was a long journey. I imagine he’s weary.”

“Well, I’ll leave ye to it then”, Daisy replied with a nod and quick curtsey. She turned in a swish of skirts and exited the room, closing the door behind her.

“So, you’re a layabout, huh?” Strider laughed lifting the covers

“Hmmph…I most definitely am not!” Frodo said indignantly, covering his mouth. “I suppose I’d better get back to my room before Daisy peeks in and finds the bed unslept in.” He squirmed up until he was over the rangers face and placed a long kiss on Estel’s mouth. “Estel, are you happy to see me or is that your sword under the covers,” he grinned as he continued the kiss.

“Your naked body has made the usual morning awakening a bit more obvious, I think, Master Hobbit,” Estel said, returning the smile.

“Should we deal with that now or later?” Frodo said breaking the kiss and looking lovingly into Estel’s eyes.

“I fear Mistress Daisy would not understand the groans of pleasure coming from this room.” Estel smirked. “Also, she will be frantic to find you gone from your room.” Frodo’s eyes widened.

“Daisy wouldn’t be averse to waking me either. The lass is nothing but persistent about rousing sleeping hobbits!” Estel had to smile at the look of utter terror on Frodo’s face at the thought of the diminutive hobbitess’s discovery of her Master’s absence.

In a sudden lunge that made Estel sure Frodo had taken flight, Frodo scrambled out from beneath the covers, pulling his nightgown on over his head. Estel’s penis twitched at the sight of the bare bottom disappearing beneath the garment. Blue eyes suddenly filled his vision as Frodo jumped back onto the bed, straddling the ranger. He gave Estel a soft kiss. Estel grasped the back of Frodo’s head, pulling him down and returned the kiss hungrily. Frodo groaned. “Oh, I wish I could stay”, he breathed, pulling away. Then he was bounding off the bed and heading towards the door. He silently cracked the door open, peered out, and then gave Estel a last loving smile before he was gone. Estel felt a sense of loss almost immediately as he stared at the door. He smiled to himself, rising slowly to begin dressing.

Frodo moved silently down the hallway to his room. Seeing Sam’s door slightly ajar he stopped and looked through the crack. Sam lay on his side, snugly ensconced in a mound of blankets.

“Mr. Frodo!” Frodo jumped guiltily, blushing, and looked over his shoulder.

“Mornin’ Daisy,” he said with a smile. Daisy stood in the hallway holding a large tray of covered dishes. Frodo’s mouth watered.

“You didn’t answer my knock earlier so your tray ain’t quite ready,” she said, flustered.

“I just awoke, Daisy and you don’t need to serve me, I can come to the table,” Frodo said, continuing to smile.

“Well, I’m headed to Mr. Strider’s room first. Perhaps you could check and see if’n he’s decent?” She blushed picturing the man with all of the hobbit accoutrements only larger. Her blush deepened.

Frodo suppressed a grin. “Of course, lass and I could just steal a slice of toast from his tray so you don’t have to worry about fixing something for me.”

She gasped. “A slice of toast? That ain’t a fit breakfast for any hobbit I knows!” She looked scandalized at the very idea. “No, I’ve got a tray for you sittin’ on the stove. I was on my way after I dropped off Mr. Strider’s tray and warmed up his tea. I figured, since he bein’ twice the size of a hobbit, that he’d have a ferocious hunger by now.” Frodo gulped. If he had stayed even one moment longer with Estel, he would have been unable to escape notice. Daisy *would* have slipped quietly into his room to leave the tray and have noticed the empty bed. She would have panicked no doubt, raising the alarm that the Master was missing.

He brushed the thought away quickly. “That is very considerate of you, Daisy. I’ll just see if Es…Mr. Strider is about.” He walked back to the doorway he had left only moments before and knocked, cracking it open, peering in. “Strider are you up?” he grinned at the connotation.

“Why, good morning, Frodo,” Estel called. Frodo could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Come in, yes, I’m about.”

Frodo opened the door fully and entered followed by a tentative Daisy. “Daisy has your breakfast,” Frodo said. Daisy bustled the rest of the way into the room, all business, and placed the tray on the side table next to the teapot. She freshened the tea and then turned towards the ranger, wringing her apron. She looked up and smiled at the ranger.

“Good mornin’ to you, Mr. Strider.” She blushed.

“You may call me Estel, Mistress Daisy.” The Ranger bowed low, bringing her tiny hand to his lips, and placing a small kiss on the back.

Daisy flushed scarlet. “Oh…oh, all right…Estel,” she stammered. Frodo grinned. She backed away slowly then turned and scurried from the room.

Frodo giggled. “Daisy is clearly enamored with you, my dear ranger. If you were but a hobbit she would never let you from her sight.”

Estel chuckled as he raised the cover on the tray, his eyes widening. Frodo gaped at the healthy, even by hobbit standards, portions then burst into clear, musical laughter. Estel looked questioning at him. “I know that hobbits love their food but…”

“Daisy thinks that since you are so large that you must eat much more”, Frodo gasped, catching his breath and wiping his eyes.

A light knock brought Frodo to his senses and he pulled the door open. Daisy smiled and entered the room, this time placing another tray next to the first. “There you be, Mr. Frodo, a *proper* breakfast,” she gave him a disapproving glance, still thinking of the idea of a hobbit only eating toast.

“Thank you so much, Daisy”, Frodo smiled.

She curtsied quickly and left saying something about Sam’s tray.

Estel looked back and forth between the two trays with an incredulous look. Another bout of giggles took Frodo until he was holding his stomach and tears flowed down his cheeks. “Shall we?” he gasped. They pulled their chairs up and sat, Frodo still in his dressing gown, Estel looking rugged and dangerous in his worn ranger clothes. The night had made them hungry and they dove into the mountain of food in front of them. Frodo picked at the eggs, the site of which made him queasy, and decided to start with the porridge instead. Daisy had drizzled honey and added stewed apple chunks on the top then dusted it with cinnamon. It was delicious. He glanced at Estel who was devouring his scrambled eggs with mushrooms and cheese. Frodo could see that the fried potatoes and bacon had also been hit hard. “My, you *are* hungry this morning, ranger,” Frodo grinned.

Estel smiled. “A certain insatiable hobbit ravaged me the whole night,” he said as he looked happily at Frodo.

Daisy popped back in and freshened their tea again. “Snowed most of the night, it seems. ‘Don’t understand the weather this year. Never seen the like ‘afore. Mr. Estel you be sure to bundle up real tight when you take your leave. I got some long woolen scarves nobody likes, as they *is* so long, that’d be ‘jes the thing to wrap about yer hands so’s they don’t freeze.

Frodo had been smiling at Estel as Daisy spoke but when she mentioned Estel leaving, the smile faded The bite of toast he had been chewing turned to sand in his mouth. He looked over at Estel in sudden panic, Estel looked sad but resolutely back at him. In the background Daisy prattled on, Frodo managed to nod at all of the right places as she spoke, while inside his stomach twisted and his mind whirled.

“Mr. Frodo, are you all right? Dear me, you’ve gone horribly pale of a sudden!” she exclaimed.

Frodo forced a smile. “No…no, Daisy, I’m fine.” He forced himself to take a bite of the now tasteless potatoes, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Estel’s looked worriedly at Frodo as he spoke to Daisy. “I will be departing shortly. I wish to make as many miles as possible before nightfall and the cold of night sets in.” Frodo’s head was bent down, looking at his hands in his lap.

Finally Daisy left them alone. No one spoke for some time. “You are breaking my heart, Estel. Please, I beg of you, allow me to go with you”, Frodo whispered, his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap.

Estel saw a tear fall and land on Frodo’s forearm. Frodo’s words were like a knife in his heart. He swallowed thickly, his eyes misting over. “I cannot,” he said simply.

Frodo’s head jerked up. “Yes, yes you can,” he cried. “I will be no trouble. I will cook all of your meals, and keep you warm come night. I…”

Estel rose abruptly. “Why do you torment me so?” he said angrily. “Know you not that I would deny you nothing? That all I desire is to have you by my side?” He looked at Frodo in silent desperation.

“Then do not deny me this. I implore you, do not leave me to worry and wonder of what has befallen you”, Frodo’s voice rose as he grasped the man’s hand. “Please!”

“I cannot. I *will* not. I cannot allow my personal desires to take precedence over your safety and my duty,” Estel said sternly.

Frodo could tell by the flat resolute way in which these words were spoken that there would be no concession. He rose and slowly walked to the door.

“Frodo…?”

Frodo continued to walk away; he opened the door quietly and left, closing it behind him with a snick.

Estel stared sadly at the closed door then he began slowly packing his belongings. He carried the pack to the front room, donned his cloak, and left the smial to go check on Galest. ‘I cannot allow my personal needs to take precedence over your safety and my duty.’ The words haunted him as he pictured the broken look on Frodo’s face.  
He dreaded the actual parting. First, he had to see to Galest, and then he would leave his love behind to wait and worry. “I will return, Frodo. I will not allow anything to keep me from being by your side.”

 

Frodo sat silently by Sam’s bedside, holding the gardener’s warm hand. Tears streamed down his face as he watched Sam sleep.

Sam’s eyes fluttered and then opened a crack. He saw Frodo weeping by his bedside and was instantly awake. “Mr. Frodo don’t cry. Truly, I am feeling much better. Rest and a bit of food is all I really needed.” He patted Frodo’s hand reassuringly. Frodo could not help but smile and let out a single laugh.

“No my dear Sam, it is not that. I knew you would recover quickly, although I plan to watch over you carefully so that you do not relapse. Estel is leaving this morning,” he said mournfully.

Sam looked confused. “Pardon me, Mr. Frodo, but who is Estel?”

Again, Frodo smiled. “Strider’s real name is Estel. It is only the Breelanders that call him Strider because he strides wherever he is going..”

“Oh. But Mr. Frodo, you seem like yer both close. I know that he’ll come back to visit again sometime.”

This made Frodo even more depressed. A visit? He sighed. “You do not understand, my dear friend.” He locked eyes with Sam and blurted “Estel and I are much more than *friends*.”

Sam stared back at him then suddenly his eyes went impossibly wide. “A MAN??? YOU’RE…YOU’RE…WITH A MAN?” he exclaimed loudly. Frodo sprang forward, putting his hands over Sam’s mouth.

“Ssssh, Sam, not so loud. Yes, I am intimate with a man.” He recounted how he had been found in the woods, injured leaving out the gruesome details.

The actual injury was still a bit fuzzy to Sam, as Mr. Frodo had not elaborated. He knew Mr. Frodo well and knew that the injury must have been severe to keep him from returning to the Shire for so long. Frodo described the first meeting of the bare-chested ranger and how the man had ministered to him, seeing to his every need, until Frodo had regained full health. Frodo explained how he had gradually fallen in love with the rugged man and that the love had been returned fourfold. Then he told Sam that they had promised themselves to each other, that they were mated for life. “I cannot imagine living without him. He denies me nothing until now. He worries for my safety since he is going to be patrolling the boundaries of the Shire. I…I have never felt so frustrated, so worried, or so empty inside. What if he becomes injured, or worse, he’s killed?” he looked desperately at Sam.

While Frodo had spoken, Sam had watched his master’s face. Frodo’s eyes had become distant as the memories had flooded his mind, but a deep abiding love had shown through. A tiny smile graced his lips as he had recounted meeting the ranger and staying at the stronghold with the other rangers while he recovered. He spoke of how love had bloomed and of the plans they had made for their future. Sam’s respect for the ranger rose when Frodo said the man would not take him because he feared for Frodo’s safety. As Frodo had spoken, Sam leaned forward, patting his master’s hands.

“It’ll all work out, Mr. Frodo, you’ll see,” Sam said encouragingly. “Why, Mr. Strider seems fit enough to hold his own. I daresay any of them ruffians would be frightened enough if he came across them!”

Frodo grinned, his eyes focused on Sam’s “you are a delight, my Sam. You have cheered me just by being here to talk to.”

Sam smiled broadly, feeling quite proud of himself. “Well then, I ‘spect Mr. Strider’s about set to leave. I know you can be strong for him, Mr. Frodo, so what say we go give him our best wishes for a safe return?”

Frodo’s smile fled, but in its place was a look of steely determination. He nodded at Sam. Sam dressed hastily with his master’s help. He splashed some water from the basin on his face and ran a brush through his hair. Finally, he was ready and they left the room together, walking slowly down the hallway.

“He’s outside, Mr. Frodo,” Daisy said when she saw them approach. “Why Sam you look almost back to normal!” she exclaimed. “Nothin’ like a good night’s sleep to cure what ails you, I always say.”

Sam had actually never heard Daisy say such a thing, but he gave her a cheery smile to show that, indeed, he did feel better. They all donned cloaks and walked to the front door, Frodo opened it, then they were on the porch. Estel stood staring off into the distance, smoking his pipe. When he heard them approach, he turned, tamped out his smoke, and gave them all a broad smile. “I must depart now, but I will return, you have my word.” His eyes had drifted to Frodo as he said the last. He turned to Daisy, “It has been my honor to meet you, Mistress Daisy. May you have nothing but happiness and good health.” He bent low over her hand and placed a kiss on the back. Daisy blushed purple.

“My pleasure indeed, Mr. Estel. May you be protected on yer journeys,” she said dreamily.

“Samwise, I have but briefly made your acquaintance, but know that in the future, we will have much to discuss, especially about herbs.” Sam’s eyes lit up. “I know that you will take only the best of care of Frodo in my absence,” he said softly. He looked deeply into Sam’s eyes, telling the gardener, with a glance, that he was depending on Sam to comfort and care for Frodo.

“You have my word on that, Mr. Strider,” Sam said resolutely. Estel took Sam’s hand. Sam jumped, “Now see here, you ain’t gonna kiss me, are you?” They all laughed.

“No Sam, Men of the North shake hands to greet or say farewell.” Estel said with a grin.

Sam hmmphed. “Thank you kindly for tending my master when he was sick, and for tending me as well,” Sam said.

Estel nodded. He turned towards Frodo and looked longingly into the hobbit’s eyes. “I dearly wish we could continue to travel together, but where I am going you cannot follow, dear one.” Frodo only nodded. “I will return and we will continue our adventures and all of the plans and dreams we have promised to one another, I give you my oath on this Frodo.” Estel looked earnestly into Frodo’s eyes.

Frodo’s eyes misted over. “I shall look for your return each day. I will write long letters and send them to Bree for you to retrieve whenever you are near. I hope only that you will try to write to me as well,” he whispered.

I will be far from Bree a good deal of the time, but will write to you every night and then, when I am near, post the letters to you Frodo. I promise. Do not worry about me, dear one, I am a skilled swordsman, and can use the bow with some skill. I will be extra careful knowing that you are waiting for me here.”

Frodo and Sam gave a small smile at Daisy who looked especially confused by the interaction Mr. Frodo had with Mr. Strider. Galest snorted at them as if to say what’s taking so long. Estel gave Frodo one last look then turned and mounted Galest. Frodo ran to his side, grasped his boot and gave Estel one last imploring look. “Please Estel”, he whispered.

Estel smiled slightly. “I cannot,” he said. Frodo’s face fell. Estel reached down and grasped Frodo under the arm, pulling him up into the saddle. Frodo looked at him in hopeful surprise. Estel placed his hand on the back of Frodo’s head, pulling him to him. He covered the hobbit’s lips with his own, filling the kiss with all the need, desire, and regret that was within him. At last, he broke the kiss, placed one last soft peck on the tip of Frodo’s nose, he lowered him to the ground, turned the horse, and began to plough through the drifts. The threesome watched until Estel and Galest topped the mountain. Then the Ranger turned towards them and gave them a final, parting salute before he crested the mountain and disappeared from view. Frodo had been weeping quietly all the while they watched. He slumped against Sam when Estel was lost from view, with a sob. Sam wrapped his arms around his Master’s shoulders and pulled him to him. “He’ll be back. You’ll see, Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered in Frodo’s ear. They turned and re-entered Bag End, closing the round green door behind them.

TBC


	19. Cures for the Lovelorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.
> 
> I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of, if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.
> 
> Synopsis: In our last chapter: Estel departs, leaving a brokenhearted Frodo behind. Frodo and Sam go on an adventure..of sorts.

Daisy and Sam half walked, half carried a weeping Frodo into the sitting room, placing him on the settee. Daisy grabbed a small quilt from a nearby chair and placed it over Frodo’s lap while Sam pulled the footstool up, placing his Master’s icy feet up before sitting down heavily next to him, still acutely aware of his own body’s limitations. He gently pulled Frodo to him as he murmured quiet reassurances to his Master. “He’ll be back, Mr. Frodo. He will. If he swore it, then he meant it, I know. I believe he’s a man o’ his word,” Sam whispered.

For a long time Frodo said nothing. Sam looked down into his Master’s face and felt his heart lurch. Frodo was staring blankly into the fire, his face damp. He whispered, more to himself than anyone else in the room, “He left me.”

Sam winced. All he could do was rub his Masters’ back as he repeated “He’ll he back, Mr. Frodo, he’ll be back.” He sorely hoped he was right.

Daisy bustled back into the room with a tray holding a steaming teapot and large glass decanter. Sam hadn’t even noticed she’d left. “Here now, Mr. Frodo, I’ve brought you a little somethin’ to warm you up,” she said softly. “I know it’s a bit early, not even quite elevenses, but I thought you could use something a touch stronger this morning.” She placed a dollop of honey into three mugs (teacups would have never done), added a healthy serving of brandy then poured tea to the top of each. She stirred Frodo’s cup to make sure the honey was dissolved then handed him the mug. He took it dutifully, not even aware he had done so. When he didn’t drink, Daisy glanced helplessly at Sam. Sam nodded then took his own cup and brought it to his lips. The honey was the perfect additive as it soothed the brandy down his throat, warming him instantly.

“Delicious Daisy, don’t you agree, Mr. Frodo?” Frodo looked questioningly at Sam, then at his mug. A gentlehobbit would never forget his manners and Sam was counting on that.

“Oh…” Frodo frowned down at the cup, not remembering picking it up. He took a sip, smiled slightly and then took another. “Yes. Daisy it is quite delicious,” he said graciously, smiling up at her. The smile looked forced, Daisy thought, but real or not, she’d take whatever she could get.

“Why thank you kindly, Mr. Frodo, it’s the Gaffer’s private recipe”, she smiled happily. Sam huffed, then started to chuckle. He looked at Frodo, who seemed completely confused, before he realized what Daisy had said and smiled wanly.

Frodo finished his ‘tea’ and handed the mug back to Daisy. “Could I have another cup of your lovely tea, Miss Daisy?”

Daisy blushed as Frodo gave her his best blue eyed gaze. “Of course, Mr. Frodo,” she giggled, delighted that her ‘tea’ was such a resounding success. She spooned a huge dollop of honey into the mug then began to add the brandy.

“A touch more if you don’t mind, Daisy,” Frodo said with a smile.

Daisy gave him a small frown followed by one of her trademark smiles any Hobbiton lad would have given his eyeteeth for, before adding another splash of the golden liquor. “Why not, I say. It’s mighty cold out today.” She glanced back at her Master and saw he was looking worriedly out the window. The wind had picked up and the snow was swirling around the eaves. She mentally kicked herself and added another splash of brandy to the mug. She filled the remaining space with hot tea and gave the cup a stir. “Here you are, Mr. Frodo.”

He turned back to his hostess/bartender with a nod. “Thank you lass,” he whispered.

“I’ll have another too, Daisy,” Sam murmured.

Daisy fixed Sam another cup of the popular brew and handed it to him. “Here you be, Sammie.” She looked at her own cup, now cool, before adding more tea to it. ‘One of us should keep our wits, I suppose,’ she thought to herself. She sat down across from Sam and Frodo. Frodo had begun to list slightly to the left, Sam to the right. “Are you all right Mr. Frodo?” she asked worriedly. Frodo gave her a silly smile. It wouldn’t do to get the Master soused before elevenses, just imagine the scandal of it. She giggled. Two pairs of eyes looked over at her. Then all three began to giggle.

“This was lovely, Daisy. I feel much better. We should really do this every day, don’t you think so, Sam?”

Sam smiled. “What a marvelous idea, Mr. Frodo”, he said enthusiastically. He looked over at Daisy who had an expression of abject horror.

“Yes, but Sam, then we’d get nothin’ else done, now would we?” she said pointedly.

“Another?”

Daisy’s gaze swiveled to Mr. Frodo. She took the mug from his outstretched hand. “Yes sir,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not too early for elevenses, Mr. Frodo. How does that sound to you, sir?” she added almost too cheerily. She prayed that food might head off the future headache she was giving her Master.

Frodo was watching her as she mixed his tea. He frowned slightly when she gave him only the merest splash of brandy. “A liddle more branny, Daisy mine? ‘M’ Sorry, …what was the quession?”

“Luncheon, sir?”

Frodo smiled, “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready to eat, lassss”, he said slurring the sentence together. Mr. Frodo had never been one to drink very much, and wasn’t prone to eat like a normal hobbit either. Mentally, she ticked off how much of the breakfast tray had come back to the kitchen untouched. She groaned.

“Daisy? Alright der?” Frodo asked in concern. Daisy’s face had gone positively white.

“Yes, Mr. Frodo. ‘Jes remembered somethin’ I needed to do, is all”, Daisy sighed. ‘Best to just go with it, I suppose.’ She thought to herself. She handed him his tea then made herself a stiff mug, giving up on the pretense of staying sober. She scurried to the kitchen, looking around for anything she could offer Mr. Frodo. She spotted the warm scones she had made for afternoon tea cooling on the windowsill. She grabbed a plate, placed four of the fragrant breads on it, and hurried back to the sitting room.

She returned to the front room, scones in hand and set them in front of her bleary-eyed Master. Sam’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward almost toppling onto his forehead. He blushed then seized one of the scones and leaned back next to Frodo. Frodo was telling Daisy the story of how he had met Strider. Sam had a sense that the story was incomplete and frowned as he bit into the steaming scone.

They listened intently as Frodo talked about how much the rangers had come to mean to him. His eyes became unfocused with the memories of his time with them. Gradually his attention returned to the window and Daisy followed his gaze. She gasped, seeing that the blizzard had stopped and that heatless rays of sunshine had broken through the clouds. “My stars, it’s about time I’d say,” she exclaimed. She rose and made her way to the large window. “Why, there’s blue sky,” she said with wonder. She turned and smiled at Frodo and Sam. “I haven’t seen blue sky in so long!” Frodo and Sam grinned back at her.

“Sam, could you hook up the sleigh and ponies and take me to #3 while there’s a break in the weather?” she asked excitedly. “The Gaffer’s been on his own for two days now and I’m a bit worried.”

Sam slowly rose to his feet. “A bit of fresh air would be a treat and mayhap we could continue on into town from there,” he said hopefully. “Mr. Frodo, pardon my sayin’ so sir, but you’re in dire need of some new clothes.” Sam would have never said such a thing normally but the brandy had loosened his tongue. “You’ve got you a nice hobbity build on you, sir. Don’t know what them men been feeding you, but you’ve filled out nicely.”

Frodo laughed. “I s’pose you’re right, Sam, enjoying the ease with which his gardener had spoken. He did hate the servant/Master formality. He had always wanted the Gamgees’ to think of him as a friend, but generations of “class” had made that all but impossible. He placed his hands on his protruding belly. “None of my breeches fit at the waist.” He looked up at Sam. “Do you feel up to it, Sam?” he asked, worried that his gardener had already over extended himself for the day.

“Aye, Mr. Frodo. ‘Jus what we need to clean out the cobwebs, I say. Also, Mr. Frodo, you need to keep busy to help the time pass for ya”, He smiled.

Frodo glanced out the window. “I agree, Sam. Estel would want me to keep busy to make sure the time passed quickly and with purpose instead of sulking around like a lovelorn lass”, he smiled wistfully. Sam decided he’d better hook up the sleigh soon before Mr. Frodo changed his mind. He went to the mudroom, slipped on his snowshoes, and slowly waded out into the drifts. He made his way to the barn; the ponies’ nickered in welcome as Sam slipped off his snowshoes. When they saw that an excursion was in order they snorted and pawed at the ground, excited to be doing something other than eating. Sam harnessed and hooked them to the sleigh and climbed up on the bench. The ponies were anxious to be off and energetically pulled the sleigh from the barn and out into the cold light, covering the short distance to the front of the smial in record time. Sam saw Daisy standing woozily on the front stoop next to Mr. Frodo who was squinting and blinking at the brightness. Both were bundled against the cold and looked as if they were holding each other up. Sam climbed down and walked over to Daisy, taking her basket.

“I dunno, Sam, I’m getting a bit of a headache. Perhaps I should stay here while you take Daisy home,” Frodo said slowly.

It was just as Sam had feared would happen. Now came the hardest part; convincing his Master to come with him. Sam swallowed thickly. “Aye, Mr. Frodo, the glare’s harsh. You go ahead and stay put where it’s warm, I’ll jes take it from here.” Sam put on his best-wearied expression and though he *was* feeling a bit peaked, the gesture was more for Mr. Frodo’s benefit than anything else. “Since we’re runnin’ a bit low on supplies” (they weren’t) “I’ll jes go on into town after I stop at #3”. Daisy started to object and then glanced at Sam. Had he just given her a tiny wink? She smiled as they waded towards the sleigh.

“No, no I’ll do it, Sammie. I’ll jes go on into town. The Gaffer is likely fine and can wait a bit longer…” she trailed off. She glanced over at Mr. Frodo who looked horrified that Sam, just from his sick bed, or Daisy alone in such unpredictable weather, could even contemplate such a thing. Frodo, sickened by his own uncharacteristic lapse of empathy, flushed crimson.

“No…that’s complete foolishness. You should stay here dear Sam, while I take Daisy home to the Gaffer. I can continue into Hobbiton afterwards. It is a nice day after all, and it will do me good to get out”, Frodo rushed, the last of the effects of the brandy now gone.

“I do feel much better, Mr. Frodo,” Sam hastened. “It is bracing out here and somehow energizing. I’d like to come along, sir, if’n it’s all right with you”, Sam held his breath.

Frodo looked at Sam. He *did* look better. “Very well, Sam, but I will run the ponies’ and it will be *I* who carries the parcels. You are going to rest, do we understand each other Sam?”

“O’course, Mr. Frodo, whatever you like”, Sam stammered. The thought of his Master having to take the reins as well as tote the bundles caused Sam to have second thoughts about continuing the deception. Yet he also knew that his Master needed something to focus his energies on, so he held his peace. “Mayhap that’d be best” Sam sighed tiredly. Now Frodo was doubly concerned. Sam *never* would have agreed to such a thing normally.

Sam’s response caused Frodo to change his mind about him going, worried that his gardener was only coming along to watch over his Master. “Sam, you should stay here. Rest and I’ll come right back to make you luncheon…”Sam saw that Frodo was truly concerned for his welfare, and knew he had gone too far.

He backpedaled. “No..no, Mr. Frodo. I think a trip out would be jes the thing to make me feel like myself again,” he said quickly. “I’ll rest once we get back, I promise”. He looked surreptitiously over at Frodo let his shoulders slump slightly forwards. Frodo studied his posture for a moment then gave him a slight nod. “All right, Sam, but we make it quick, understand? I’ll see the Tailor tomorrow there’s no need to keep you out unduly.”

Sam cursed himself knowing he’d overdone his play acting, but deciding there was nothing he could do about it now. “Whatever you think is best, Mr. Frodo”. He smiled. Frodo returned his smile and went around the sleigh to help Daisy up onto the bench, followed by Sam. He hurried back into the smial and emerged with a comforter, which he tucked in around the both of them. Sam rolled his eyes and Daisy giggled. Feelings of guilt at the continuing subterfuge washed over Sam and he nearly pronounced himself miraculously cured but a swift kick under the coverlet by Daisy, changed his mind. She gave him an icy glance and he slumped back into the comforter. “Thank you, Mr. Frodo. I am sorry to be such a bother.”

Frodo stopped tucking long enough to look into Sam’s eyes. “Why Sam, You could *never* be a bother,” he whispered fervently.

Flustered by the love and honesty he saw in those eyes, Sam opened his mouth to object, but felt Daisys’ hand on his arm under the blanket. He smiled up at his Master, “You’re too good to me, Mr. Frodo”, he said, his eyes misting over.

With a “nonsense” Frodo gave him a pat then climbed up onto the harriers bench and with a snap, the ponies began moving the sleigh over the snow and down the hill. They arrived at #3 in good time and could see smoke curling up from the chimney. Sam let his eye rove over the icy path to the woodpile, checking the supplies in a glance. As if reading his mind, Daisy gave him a buss on the forehead. “You’re not to worry yourself, Sam, I have it all in hand.”

Sam smiled. “I know lass.” He saw the curtain move aside and an older version of himself look out. He waved and the Gaffer waved back. Frodo helped Daisy down and walked her up the slippery path. Sam saw the gaffer talking to Frodo and Frodo looked back over his shoulder at Sam with a smile. Then he was walking back to the sleigh and climbing up onto the bench.

“The Gaffer thinks I’m babying you, Sam”, Frodo laughed.

“You are, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said sincerely.

“Nonsense,” Frodo said again then they were moving on down the winding hillside, the ponies happy to be out in the crisp air. All the while Frodo and Sam caught up on all that had happened in Hobbiton since his absence. The news was scant since most of the inhabitants had been smial bound due to the weather. Frodo pulled the sleigh up to the stables. He saw that he and Sam weren’t the only ones enjoying the rare break in the weather. A line of sleighs was having their ponies unhitched and put into stalls with fresh hay and oats. Without looking at whom he was dealing with, Toby Wetherford unhitched the ponies. When he did look up his eyes flew open wide. “Why, it’s Mr. Frodo! We’d given up hope o’ ever seein’ ye again, we had, sir. It is so good to have ya back. And Sam! It has been awhile”, He frowned at seeing his friend looking so frail.

“Good morning, Toby. It’s good to see you as well. I think Sam and I’ll be stocking up a bit then maybe go to the Green Dragon for an ale if you should need us.” Frodo gave him a smile. He helped Sam down, much to Sam’s mortification, and they began slowly making their way to the Dragon. “Sam, I’m famished. This fresh air has completely revived my appetite, it seems. Let’s get a bit of elevenses before we shop, all right?” Sam knew Frodo probably wasn’t really hungry and was only going to eat so Sam would. But Sam wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth as it would also give him the opportunity to get his Master to eat as well. They entered the Dragon, picking a table in the back. It took some time to reach the table as Frodo was greeted with surprise and elation at his return. There was so much backslapping and handshakes that Frodo was quite sore before he finally sat down. Sam had also been cause for attention but Frodo noticed more frowns and worried glances following his gardener than laughter. Frodo resolved to bake all of Sam’s favorites to fatten up his loyal friend.

Frodo ordered two pints of the Dragon’s best ale, two bowls of hearty stew and a loaf of fresh out of the oven bread with butter and jam. He also ordered some apple tartlets with thick icing for afters. Sam smiled. He fully intended to eat his fair share but also planned to make sure Frodo did as well. They talked over their beer before the food came then there was silence as they both tucked in. Finally, Sam leaned back, stuffed. “Oh that was lovely,” he said as he mentally took stock of how much his Master had eaten. Frodo did the same, noticing that Sam had only had seconds, but somehow knew that it was more than the gardener had been eating, so he was satisfied. After they had finished every crumb of the tartlets, Frodo paid for the meal and they left for the Bakers. Frodo selected two loaves of crusty bread and a cherry pie. He made Sam wait on the bench in the Bakery while he went next door to the Butcher for a pork roast and two chickens. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably then, looking out the window, saw Frodo duck into Mrs. Bogbottom’s small grocery. He emerged laden with bundles. Sam sighed. When Frodo returned for Sam, his cheeks were flushed and he was slightly out of breath. “There Sam, I think I’ve found almost all we might need.” He smiled. Sam looked at the bundles, his fingers itching to take them from his Master. Frodo shifted packages from one arm to the other, finally setting them down on a nearby table. He sighed. “It appears I might need to make two trips to the sleigh.” He laughed.

“I can help, Mr. Frodo” Sam said earnestly. “I feel so much better now after eatin’ and all”, he implored.

Frodo smiled, seeing how much Sam wanted to carry the bundles. “You can carry this….and, uh, this..Sam,” he said giving Sam the bread and the cheese. Sam moved to object but with a look, Frodo stopped him. “That’s all Sam. I’ll handle the rest.” He said firmly. “Wait here and I’ll go get the sleigh so we can head back to Bag End” and turned to go.

“Um…Mr. Frodo, I really *do* feel fine, sir. What say we go ahead and see the Tailor while we’re here?” Frodo shook his head.

“I don’t want you completely done in because of the *Tailor*, Sam. I think we should head back.”

Sam laughed. “Now who’s he measurin’? Not me.” He grinned widely. “I know how much you love yer “fittins”, Mr. Frodo. I’d hate for you to not go jes because o’ little ol’ Sam.” He started to giggle uncontrollably. Frodo gave him a crooked smile.

“Very well, Samwise Gamgee, but I’ll have you know that I’ll be bringing you in sometime next week for your very *own* fitting,” he laughed when Sam stopped mid giggle and gaped at him.

“Thas not necessary, Mr. Frodo. I don’t need no clothes…why, I’ll have all me weight back in no time.”

Frodo just smiled in response. They took their parcels to the sleigh before wading across the street, only to discover the Tailors shop closed. Frodo walked around the back and knocked on the door. Odo Hobblethorn opened the door, a shocked look on his face. “Mr. Baggins. I thought I’d never see the likes of yourself again and that I’d lost my number one customer.” He laughed as he pumped Frodo’s hand vigorously. He ushered them into his home, which was attached to the back of his shop. “Wonderful to see you all filled out like a proper hobbit, I might add.”

Frodo smiled, weary of the comments on his increased girth. Sam walked slowly in front and Odo ran ahead to build up the fire on the hearth, frowning a bit at Sam’s thin frame. He turned up the lamps brightening the small shop. He thought to himself that it was as if Mr. Baggins and Sam had traded bodies.

“I apologize for intruding, Mr. Hobblethorn, or taking you away from your family. We were here in town and just wondered if you could measure me for some new clothes because, as you noted, I’ve quite out grown my others.”

“No, no not at all Mr. Baggins. I’ve had the shop closed much of the winter since no one has been out and about.” He assured Frodo. “My, my Mr. Baggins…whatever have you been eating?” He chortled as he patted Frodo’s stomach. Frodo grimaced. Seeing Frodo’s discomfort he added, “I don’t mean to be rude sir, but I hardly needed any cloth at all ‘afore. It’s just such a difference, er, your girth has more an’ doubled, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.” He continued, as he re-measured Frodo’s waist and hips to verify the numbers. Frodo smiled thinly only wishing Odo would finish so they could be off. Frodo had always hated going to the Tailors and enduring the measuring and constant chiding about his lack of a hobbity build, only to have one speech replaced with another now that he had filled out. He sighed and counted to 10. Odo didn’t notice as he pinned Frodo’s choice of cloth on him.

“I think I’ll leave a little wiggle room on the waistband so after meals the breeches won’t feel so tight, if that’s all right with you, Mr. Baggins.” Frodo flushed and gave the Tailor a wan smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Hobblethorn, an excellent idea.”

Sam had been watching from a chair in the corner, a twisted smile on his lips. It was always amusing to watch his Master being fit for new clothing. He knew how much Frodo loathed standing on the small stool, wearing nothing but his shorts and having a near stranger rove his hands and tape over his body. Odo finally finished and Frodo went to change back into his clothing. He hadn’t been able to button his breeches without sucking in for over a month and now the button decided enough was enough and popped with a snap, flying across the room with a clink. He groaned, thankful he had his braces and pulled his shirt out to cover the opening in his pants. The other buttons held, thankfully, and no one had noticed the flying button’s escape. He wrapped his cloak so that his front was covered and left the dressing room. Odo said he would have the new clothes brought to Bag End within a week and they said their good-byes. Once they were out on the street, Frodo heaved a huge sigh. Sam couldn’t resist a chuckle.

“I am so happy I could entertain you”, Frodo chuckled.

“’S why I wanted to come, Mr. Frodo. Tailor’n is always amusing, least wise for me, beggin’ your pardon, sir”. Sam grinned broadly. When they got to the stable, Frodo paid Toby, who had hitched the ponies to the sleigh while Frodo had helped Sam up onto the bench. After a few moments, they were sliding along behind the ponies, leaving Hobbiton and climbing the curving lane up the hill to Bag End. It was slippery going but Frodo was calm and kept his voice low as he murmured encouragement to the ponies. At last, the arrived in front of #3 and Frodo turned to face his friend. “I’d like for you to stay with me for awhile, if the Gaffer doesn’t mind, Sam,” He said quietly.

Sam knew Frodo wanted to ‘mend’ him but this could work in Sam’s favor as well. He would be able to keep a close eye on his Master even as Frodo helped him regain his own strength. He wanted to keep Frodo from falling into despair and worrying about Strider, and if he had to tolerate being doted on in order to keep Frodo’s mind occupied, so be it. “I don’t think he’ll mind much, Mr. Frodo, if’n you say you need me abouts, otherwise he’d feel as I was takin’ advantage.”

Frodo frowned. “Poppycock,” he exclaimed. He turned, seeing the old hobbit standing on the porch step. The Gaffer squinted into the glare, leaning heavily on his cane. Frodo climbed down from the bench and waded over to the Gaffer. Sam overheard the conversation from the porch as Frodo carefully broached the subject of Sam staying at Bag End for a bit to help around the smial. The Gaffer was so delighted to see Frodo hail and hearty, he would’ve denied him nothing, especially since Frodo was the Master of Bag End. Sam’s mouth dropped open and he started to chuckle as he watched his da actually *hug* Mr. Frodo. Frodo blushed, but returned the hug wholeheartedly. Realizing what he had done too late, the Gaffer turned crimson, pulled away, and studied his toes in embarrassment. Sam smiled and then watched as his Master eased the older man’s discomfort. ‘He is always so good at leveling the playin’ field,’ Sam thought. He watched as he saw Frodo say something that made his da laugh aloud and visibly relax. With that, Frodo said goodbye, waved at Daisy who smiled from the window, and walked back to the sleigh.

Daisy called out, “Wait Mr. Frodo”. She emerged a few minutes later, hurrying towards him, with an armload of Sam’s things. She would’ve fallen if Frodo hadn’t lunged forward, grabbing her arm. She laughed, blushing, and thanked Frodo as she pushed Sam’s clothes, along with a basket of her famous hot cheese scones, into his arms.

“Oh Daisy, you smell heavenly this eve,” Frodo said, grinning.

“Silly you,” Daisy giggled and gave him a playful slap before turning and walking back, much more slowly, to #3. The Gaffer gave her a look that could have melt ice, scolding her all the way back into the smial.

Frodo chuckled. “Poor lass forgot herself and in front of the Gaffer, no less.”

Sam laughed. “She won’t hear the end of that one for awhile. UMMMMM….I smell warm cheese scones”, he said taking the basket and putting the other bundle on top of it to keep them warm.

Frodo smiled. “Let’s make haste before they get cold, Sam.” He jumped up onto the bench and with a gentle flick of the reins, the ponies resumed their climb up to the top of the hill. Frodo reined the sleigh up at the path, helped an increasingly agitated Sam down and inside, then rode the rest of the way up to the barn. He pulled the sleigh inside, unhitched the ponies, wiped them down, and replenished their feed, before closing the barn door and wading back to the smial. He came into the mudroom and stomped his feet free of snow, then wiped them so as not to track in. Sam had all the lanterns lit and fires crackling on the hearths. “Sam, you rest. I’ll fix dinner,” Frodo said cheerily.

“No sir, you won’t if you’ll pardon my bluntness, Mr. Frodo.” Frodo thought Sam looked angry and stopped cold.

“Sam?”

“You been doin’ for me all day and it has drove me to distraction, it has. So, there’ll be no more o’ that for tonight”, he said briskly.

“Why Sam, you’ve been ill. You need to recover then you can do all the things you always do for me again,” Frodo said with a smile. For some reason he had the feeling he was trying to stop a raging bull.

“No sir, ‘Not gonna let you slave away anymore,” Sam said resolutely.

“It’s been fun,” Frodo said simply.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Fun?”

“Sam I rarely get the chance to feel useful because I am the Master and you are my *servant*, which is totally absurd. So, yes it feels good to help out a bit.” He smiled.

“Well, I’ll be fixin’ the dinner, if that’s all right sir. I know you been itchin’ to get to your study anyways, so I’ll call you when it’s all ready. Does that sound fair, Sir?”

Frodo’s face lit up. “Sam, what a marvelous idea. I *did* want to find one of Bilbo’s old books he had written with Elrond Halfelven.” Sam’s eyes lit up. “I’ll go and search for it while you see to dinner.”

“Could we have a story later mayhap, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked eagerly.

“Why not? After dinner what say we retire to the sitting room and do just that?” Frodo called out excitedly as he went into the study.

Sam went into the kitchen and began to whistle. The thought of a tale after dinner was something he was really looking forward to and he began to mentally choose his favorites as he sliced leftover ham and added it to the pan with a sizzle.

Frodo was pleased that Daisy and Sam had kept the room untouched save for dusting the books and furniture. He surveyed the shelves of books for the volume Bilbo and Elrond had written together, looking forward to a brandy and a tale by the fire. He would make it all up to Sam, he vowed to himself, all of the time and sacrifice his gardener had endured because of worry for Frodo’s sake. Sam would want for nothing as long as he remained Master of Bag End.

TBC


	20. Clarity

Chapter 20

 

He sniffed the air and turned his face towards the sky. Galest continued her plodding pace, head down in exhaustion, beside the man. He gazed around him, spied an overhang of rock ahead, and murmured to the horse softly. She butted her head gently against him and he grinned. He looked back, watching the two men being led behind Galest, as they struggled to keep up with the horse’s pace. They too looked exhausted, but the Ranger cared little for their comfort.

“We will camp here,” Estel said. As the horse pulled even with the overhang, the men collapsed in a heap.

“We ain’t done, nothing. You got no right to tie us up and march us behind yer stinkin’ horse,” the fat one yelled, spittle flying from his gap-toothed mouth, his beady eyes threatening and dangerous.

“We wuz jes’ walkin’. Huntin’… thas what we wuz doin’. Huntin ‘s all.” His companion put in. The two men looked at each other and laughed harshly.

“Huntin’ … yep,” agreed the fat one. Another rough laugh. Estel ground his teeth together trying to refrain from killing the prisoners outright.

Slowly, he divested Galest of the saddle and panniers. He had no doubt that they had been hunting. Moreover, he knew what the intended prey was. He had found the two inside the Southern borders of the Shire in the tree line, setting large mouth jaw traps. He had soundlessly approached as they had joked back and forth, about what they would do with the prey once ensnared. “It won’t kill ‘em and we can have our fun then put ‘em outta their misery. I don’t care what happens to ‘em after we finish. They ain’t no different than rabbits anyway. Then I says we get into the towns and see jes’ what all the talk’s about. I heard there’s riches unimaginable in their dirty little burrows. We could have our fun and be rich at the same time,” the fat one named Phelan had said. “I jes’ wants me some place to hole up fer a bit with one o’ them male ones. Oh, they’s tight and warm. Gonna ride ‘em till they’s dead. Won’t need to cut their throats or nuttin’ cuz they’s never gonna survive the poundin’ I gonna give ‘em.” Phelan’s companion Vin said loudly, licking his lips. Estel had attacked then, from the trees. All of his hatred and rage exploding from within him as he pictured Frodo’s sweet innocence and beautiful body, crushed, bruised and defiled by men like these. He had bound them tightly with rope, the secured them to his saddle behind Galest. Then he had found the traps and destroyed them so no innocent would happen upon them. They begged, pleaded with him.

“We’d share the gold and the spoils with ya Ranger. Ain’t no cause to drag us into Bree. I bet you don’t make much coin doin’ what ya do. We’d give ya a split of the take and pick o’ the litter of the rats,” Vin said lecherously. The man’s eyes were equally beady and cruel to Phelan’s. He gave a sneer of disgust when he mentioned his quarry. Before he had even been aware of what he was doing the sword was at Vin’s neck. Estel leaned in, mere inches from the man’s face, the blade pressing into the skin causing it to split and bleed. The man’s eyes flew open in fear as he panted his fetid breath into Estel’s face.

“Let’s be clear, mongrel,” Estel said in a low, threatening voice. A chill ran up both men’s spines. "I do not do this for money, I do it to rid the world of creatures like yourself. You are cowards that prey on the helpless.” Phelan’s eyes glinted with hatred at the man. “I should have killed you outright setting traps that cruelly break and mangle the legs of any animal, let alone hobbits. I should have run you through knowing what you intended for the victims. But I have a sense of decency… something you have never experienced. The Sheriff in Bree shares my feelings on *your* kind. You will be hanged, pure and simple.” Both men’s eyes widened fearfully.

“Wot for, Ranger? Nuttin’ illegal ‘bout huntin’ in these woods”, Phelan exclaimed.

“Ah, but you are mistaken. You are in the Shire. The moment you crossed the boundary your life was forfeit, such as it is”, Estel smiled maliciously.

“But we’re innocent”, started Phelan. You bes’ not turn yer back on us, Ranger or…” The sword whipped around and pressed against Phelan’s neck in the blink of an eye. The man had never seen the Ranger move. Estel pressed the edge into the man’s skin, cutting deep, but not deep enough to cause significant injury. The man yelped.“Oi!”

“Speak again and I will kill you. I would very much enjoy that.” Estel hissed. The Ranger crossed to his panniers and withdrew four strips of dirty cloth. He balled one up and stuffed it into Phelan’s mouth then tied another strip over it in the back of the man’s head. He repeated this with the other two strips on Vin. He smiled grimly. “Now we can have some peace. No need to listen to your vile talk.” The men glared at him in hatred. Estel walked over to Galest, took a rag, and wiped the horse down. He knew the area and that the overhang was the entrance to a small cave. The opening was too small for Galest to go through, but the overhang would afford some small amount of shelter for her. He crawled into the narrow opening and spied the small pile of kindling next to the cold fire pit. His men had been here ahead of him and he could not help but wonder if their own hunts had been as successful as his own had. He built a fire, placing pots of snow to the side to melt. He retrieved the rest of his gear and spread out his bedroll on a pile of pine needles left for just that purpose. He added dried onions, carrots, spices, and jerky to the now melted water and watched as the stew began to simmer. He smiled remembering what he had forgotten and pulled his panniers closer. He reached in and withdrew four mushrooms, sliced them and added them to the stew. He had been looking for something a few days prior and had felt something cold and odd in his pack. Pulling his hand out, he had laughed when he saw the mushrooms in his palm. He pictured Frodo’s face as the hobbit had secreted them into the pack and felt his heart warm. He sighed wistfully. It had been two weeks only but if felt like an age had passed since he had departed Hobbiton. He had wept as he crested the mountain and looked back at the hobbit struggling and weeping against Sam. He desperately wanted to see his lover again. _‘I could....’_ he thought, his pulse quickening. _‘I have to go to Bree to turn these men over to Sheriff Wallcot, but afterwards perhaps…’_ He sighed. No, it was not practical. More of this type of offal would penetrate the borders of Frodo’s peaceful homeland. _‘He said he’d write every day,’_ Estel smiled, excited at the prospect of news from his sweet hobbit. Smiling, he rose and slipped out through the cave entrance. He crossed to the men and jerked them to their feet. “One of you will eat and tend to your …business with my supervision. Once that parasite is done, the other will have his chance,” Estel said evenly. He dragged them towards the cave entrance, uncaring that their legs had fallen asleep. He pushed them through the opening, one at a time, then re-bound them together. They grunted in protest and he pulled their arms out behind them causing them to gasp in pain. “You will be silent,” he whispered threateningly. The men looked fearfully at each other, unsure which was worse, traveling with the dangerous Ranger or being in a Bree jail. Once inside he separated them staking the rope tether style away from each man. He drew his curved knife from his boot, laying it on a nearby rock, as he untied Phelan. The man rubbed his wrists together as he glared at Estel. Estel sat across the fire from him, gray eyes fixed on the man.

Phelan yanked his gag off and spit. “You’re lucky you got that knife, Ranger,” he growled.

“This is your second and last warning,” Estel said coldly. Another chill went up Phelan’s back. “If you speak again, you will die. I have no problems, I assure you, with my conscious on this matter.” The man gulped and knew the Ranger spoke true. Estel ladled soup into a bowl and set it near the man. He tossed a spoon to him. “Eat.” Phelan did, hungrily. They had walked through deep drifts of snow for at least 10 miles and he was starved. Estel’s eyes never left him as the Ranger squatted by the fire, the knife held at the ready.

“More?” Phelan asked.

“No.” Estel said. He pitched a water skin to the man and Phelan drank deeply. Afterwards, Estel crossed to the ruffian lifting him by his collar to his feet. “March.” The man gave a nervous look over his shoulder at Estel. Estel smiled threateningly back at him. Phelan gulped, expecting to be stabbed from behind at any moment. They quit the cave and found a spot for the man to relieve himself. “You mean to watch?” Phelan asked gruffly.

“It gives me no pleasure to see your diseased cock, I assure you,” Estel said flatly. Finally, Phelan finished and buttoned his breaches. “Are you finished?” The man nodded. “Do you need to move your bowels?” the man frowned, not understanding then his face registered comprehension.

“No.”

“Then march,” Estel growled. They re-entered the cave. Vin had not moved, not that he could have if he had wanted to. He looked up expectantly as he saw them enter. Estel replaced the gag, bound, and re-tethered Phelan. In addition, he bound the man’s feet tightly together. He threw a blanket over him. “Sleep,” he commanded. Phelan gave him a poisonous look. The same procedure was repeated with Vin only Estel placed him away from Phelan so the two could not work together planning a possible escape. Finally, Estel settled by the fire with a bowl of stew. He withdrew a small loaf of bread and broke off chunks to dunk in the stew. The men watched him, eyeing the bread hungrily. Estel then gathered more snow to melt for tea. He stared into the fire as it steeped. He would be glad to be rid of this riff-raff and sleep in a bed. He rose and retrieved some feed for Galest, left the cave and affixed her feedbag around her neck. He spread a blanket over her and gave her a rub between the eyes. She nickered softly as she leaned into the caress. He returned to the cave, poured himself some tea, and sat down by the fire. He reached into his bag and withdrew the beautifully tooled book written by his foster Father and Bilbo Baggins. He had wrapped it in cloth to protect the fragile pages and finely detailed cover. He located the marker he had placed where he had stopped reading. He was now acquainted with the Stoors, Harfoots and their lifestyles. He began the chapter entitled “Fallohides”. Immediately he recognized Frodo as being Fallohide and smiled. “…they are fairest of skin and hair, tallest, slimmest. They prefer woodlands.”* He read. Although Frodo’s hair was not “fair” he knew the hobbit wasn’t a Harfoot with dark skin or a Stoor who were stocky. Perhaps Frodo was a blend of Stoor and Fallohide since his parents had lived near the water and had had no fear of it. Each of the ‘tribes’ or ‘stock’ as Bilbo had written, had different tastes in foods and houses. Frodo and his kin lived in smials while other ‘stock’ preferred small mud thatched huts. Stoors even sometimes wore boots. He had never imagined how little he had known about the little people. The book had been a wealth of information and he was enjoying it immensely. He turned to the next chapter and frowned.

 

  


**“The Medical Significance of the Interaction of Fallohides and the Race of Men”**

  


 

 

It was a long chapter and Elrond had specifically singled out the Fallohides. The other races of hobbit were evidently, not affected or as a rule, did not intermingle with men. Estel glanced over at his prisoners, seeing that they appeared to be asleep, retrieved his pipe and, after it was lit and he had taken a few puffs, began to read. __

**  
_“Fallohides are more likely, for some reason, to co-habitate with the race of Men. It is unknown why this is, except that Fallohides have light colored eyes, finer features and are more comely than their counterparts are. Fallohides have an innate curiosity about all races and lands of Middle Earth, whereas, Harfoots and Stoors prefer hearth and homeland and shy away from any dealings with outsiders. This author believes that the fact that Fallohides enjoy interaction with others means they have more contact with men and thus more relationships. There are several serious complications in intimate relationships between the two species.”_   
**

Estel set his pipe aside, forgotten, tensing as he continued. __

**  
_“The consideration of size is the least of these problems. Evidently the Fallohide males when mated with men, have been know to become impregnated. It is a rare occurrence but still happens in this age. It is undoubtedly a hold over from earlier times when the two species need to increase their numbers in order to survive. Sadly, most Fallohide males are ill equipped to deliver a ½ human, ½ hobbit progeny. This is due to their slim builds, narrow hips and of course that they are male and do not have a pelvis that will spread during delivery. Current records do not exist disclosing the number of existing live births. This could be because the mortality rate is near 100% or that the coupling is so secret that the children are thought of as unnatural and not included in any census studies.”_   
**

Estel’s heart was racing as he read and re-read the passage. His face paled and he broke out in a sweat as he turned the pages with shaking hands, scanning the rest of the text and diagrams. He looked at one diagram and saw that a rudimentary womb branched off the anal passageway. That was where the child grew in the hobbit’s…in *Frodo’s* body. He launched himself to his feet and paced frantically back and forth in front of the fire. _‘I must have misunderstood,’_ he thought and re-read the passage again. Panic seized him as he thought back to all of Frodo’s symptoms that, no doubt, he would have caught if Frodo had been a female. _“…Estel, it does not hurt there. It is only my hobbity paunch…” “It moved, Frodo.” “I am famished it was only my stomach growling. What else could it be?”_ He remembered these and other conversations that now circled and spun around in his brain. He clutched his head in his hands. _“What else could it be? What else cold it be?”_ repeated like a litany, taunting him, making him feel foolish and negligent of the obvious diagnosis. How could he have been so blind? But Frodo was a *male*. No one would have ever expected this from a male. Then Estel remembered the nausea that had constantly assailed Frodo, his odd food choices, the comment from the hobbitess where he had purchased the pickled vegetables. _“..oh, you must have a lass in a family way…”_ , the back aches, the ‘hobbity tummy’, the sudden bouts of crying and emotional outbursts. Frodo was pregnant… unbelievable as it seemed, he knew it was true. He tried to focus and counted backwards, mentally calculating how long he and Frodo had been intimate. Not long enough, he realized, with tears in his eyes, accepting that this was not his child. Oh how he wished it were. It would be a blessed event, the start of their family and culmination of their love. But no, the child was the product of the rape by Gant and Wulf. He felt ill. Frodo didn’t know, or if he did, he would have only just discovered his predicament. Suddenly, Estel cared not about his duty or his prisoners. He needed to get to Frodo. If Frodo realized who the possible father of his unborn child was, Estel worried for the hobbit’s sanity. The feelings and memories of the rape had not diminished for Frodo and to become pregnant from such a brutal attack…He feared it would unhinge the hobbit and he did not know what would happen or what Frodo would do in that desperate moment of clarity. He was cheered, at least, that he had declared his love and promised to hand fast the hobbit. Perhaps it would be enough to sustain Frodo until they were reunited. _‘But how do you feel about raising this child?’_ a small voice asked him. He ground his teeth together and set his jaw. It was no fault of the child’s that this had happened. The child was still ½ Frodo and he would love it and raise it like is own. His eyes darted around the cave. He hastily gathered his belongings, raced to a confused Galest and loaded the horse. He poured water over the fire, donned his cloak, and roughly pulled the groggy prisoners to their feet, pushing them out into the cold. He hefted them up onto Galest, lashing them together. Galest gave them a wilting look, baring her teeth. The men were mumbling their complaints and Galest gave Estel a sideways questioning look. But he took no time to explain his motives. He grasped Galest’s bridle and began lurching through the snow towards the Greenway, heading North to Bree. Then he would make all haste to Hobbiton and Frodo. “Hang on Frodo. I am coming,” he whispered. Fear filled his throat and his stomach lurched. “Eru, please, let nothing happen to him.”

TBC

* Excerpt from Middle Earth for Dummies


	21. Labyrinth

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of, if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

 ****Synopsis: In our last chapter: Estel makes his way to Bree to drop off two ruffians and discovers that Frodo has a bun in the oven.

Rating is NC17

Pairing: Frodo/Estel [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lovethosehobbit/4131.html)

[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lovethosehobbit/4131.html)

Frodo’s eyes flew open—had he overslept? He rose stiffly, his back protesting. He looked out the round window at the frozen landscape. The night sky was just beginning to lighten, signally the approaching dawn. _‘Well, I’m a little early but at least I can make the sweet rolls and have them ready before Sam wakes up,’_ he thought to himself. He slipped on his robe and shuffled slowly towards the kitchen. He was exhausted. He had never really thought about how much Sam accomplished on a daily basis until he had forced Sam into letting him take over all of his duties. Sam had *not* been happy about the switch in roles but Frodo was more stubborn than the gentle gardener and it had really been no battle at all once Frodo had made up his mind. He knew Sam worked hard, that the smial always looked perfect, food was always on time and delicious, and that as Master, anything he could need or want was always presented to him moments before he needed it, due to Sam’s attentions. Sam made it seem so – effortless. Frodo was discovering that tending Bag End with all of its inner workings was more than just a little arduous, at least for him. He felt completely drained. _‘That’s why I am always so tired,’_ he thought, yawing widely and stumbling into the kitchen. _‘You were tired *before* you took this upon you,’_ a small voice reminded him before he impatiently pushed it aside. He built up the banked fire and set a kettle full of water on the hook for tea. He retrieved flour, sugar, dried currents, butter, and all the necessary spices for his sweet current buns and began making the dough. He covered and left them to rise by the fire. He saw to his dismay that the sun was coming up and quickened his pace. Sam would be up soon and he still had a lot to do. He went to his room and dressed hurriedly, pulling on his breeches last.

“Bugger it all!” he exclaimed. He heard a sharp intake of breath and spun around seeing Sam standing in the doorway. “Oh, Sam, I thought you were still sleeping”, he said sheepishly, turning crimson.

“So I gathered say’n what you jes did, Mr. Frodo”, Sam chuckled.

“Sorry Sam, it’s just these new breeches. They are already too tight. I cannot even button them. How is that possible? The Taylor just measured me two weeks ago. Confound it anyway.” He gave up trying to get the two sides to come together attached his braces, un-tucked his shirt to cover the opening then stomped out of the room with Sam in tow.

“Mayhap he measured wrong, Mr. Frodo?” Sam volunteered.

“I watched him. He measured correctly and he’s never made a mistake yet on any of my garments,” Frodo groused. “I don’t know how any hobbit could possibly get larger in two weeks when…”

“…when he don’t eat much?” Sam finished his face serious. Frodo shot him a sour look, and went to the pantry retrieving eggs, cheese, milk, tomatoes, bacon, and mushrooms and setting them on the counter. He returned to the pantry and emerged with potatoes and apple juice. He began to crack eggs angrily into a bowl, talking as he stirred in the milk and cheese. He sliced the mushrooms and after pouring the egg mixture into a sizzling pan, combined them with the chopped tomatoes on top. He tossed some cheese on top haphazardly.

“I haven’t even had them laundered yet so they could not have shrunk, Sam.”

“P’raps Daisy or Mari could let them out a touch, Mr. Frodo.” Frodo turned from stirring the eggs.

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Sam. Do you think they would mind? I really don’t want to go to town and be re-measured.” He shuddered to himself. Sam smiled.

“I *do* know how much you love yer fittin’s, Mr. Frodo,” he said with a giggle. Frodo shot him a mock glare.

“I suppose I could go through some of Bilbo’s old things and see if there’s something I could wear,” he sounded discouraged.

“That’d be fine, Mr. Frodo. All o’ them clothes is jes sittin’, after all.” Frodo put the bacon and shredded potatoes into the two other hot pans with a sizzle. “Sam, breakfast will be ready soon, why don’t you go and get dressed?” he said softly, feeling a pang of loss at Bilbo’s name.

“I could finish up here, Mr. Frodo and you could relax a moment with your cup of tea, what do you say, sir?” Sam offered hopefully. He hated being waited on. He looked at his Master noticing, not for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes and sag to his shoulders. _‘He’s exhausted and he won’t let me lift a finger to help.’_

“No Sam, you need to rest and take it easy for awhile longer,” Frodo replied. Sam grit his teeth, trying to control his voice and not sound ungrateful.

“I really do feel fine, Mr. Frodo. I’ve gained most of my weight back and I sleep all the time, it seems,” he said carefully. “Couldn’t I jes start helpin’ out a bit? I’d let you know if I got tired,” he wheedled. Frodo turned and smiled tiredly at him.

“No Sam, I have it all in hand. The bacon and potatoes are nearly done. You go. Get dressed. When you get back breakfast will be on the table waiting,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to overdo.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, dejectedly. Frodo heard him grumble something about ‘how could he overdo just by cooking eggs?’ He smiled to himself, checked to make sure Sam was gone, then placed his hands on the small of his back, groaning. _‘I must have strained it,’_ he thought to himself. He served up the breakfast, adding some extra sliced tomatoes to the side along with bread and jam, poured the tea and two glasses of apple juice then slumped down into his chair. Sam returned with a smile.

“Looks mighty fine, Mr. Frodo”, he said. Frodo beamed and as one, they tucked in. Frodo ate most of his eggs, applesauce, and potatoes and drank his juice but left the bacon.

“The bacon’s real good, Mr. Frodo, nice and crispy,” Sam said, trying to get his master to eat.

“Thank you, Sam but since I can’t even fit into my breeches I think I’ll cut back a bit,” Frodo said sipping his tea. He looked at the bacon and felt his stomach lurch alarmingly. “It doesn’t really sound good this morning anyway,” he added quietly.

“But you don’t eat enough as it is, Mr. Frodo”, Sam exclaimed, realizing his blunder too late. Frodo’s eyes flashed and Sam instantly wished he could disappear. The one thing Frodo hated the most was being told that he was too thin or that he didn’t eat enough. He hated it when people went on about his unhobbity build and lack of appetite.

“No thank you, Sam,” Frodo said evenly. “I should clean up. I have a lot to do today”, he added, rising. He cleared the dishes and began warming the water to wash them.

“Couldn’t I do that, sir? It’s not overdo’in, washing dishes.” Frodo acquiesced with a smile.

“Very well, Sam if you really want to”, he said, giving Sam’s shoulder a pat. “I’ll just go restock the woodpile, I think, and then tidy up a bit.” Sam’s mouth dropped open.

“But, Mr. Frodo, I could…”

“Rest”, Frodo finished as he donned his cloak and went outside. Sam turned purple.

“I can’t take any more o’ this. If he tells me to rest or take it easy one more time, I’ll…I’ll scream, I will,” he fairly shouted to the empty kitchen. He washed the dishes in angry jerking motions, wiped down the table then threw the cloth on the counter, all the while muttering to himself. “…wet-nursing son of a…you must recover your strength, dear Sam….drivin’ me mad…” he heard the chop of the axe and groaned loudly. He walked down the hallway to Frodo’s room. He made the bed, collected the dirty clothing, books, and dishes from the floor and table, and put them away. Sam’s room was spotless but Mr. Frodo never made his bed and left most things wherever they fell. Sam smiled. _‘Jes’ his way,’_ he thought. He heard the kitchen door open and the sound of grunting, then a crash as the wood box was filled, then the door opened again and Frodo left. Sam walked back into the kitchen spied the current rolls had risen almost to overflowing. He put them in the oven as Mr. Frodo came in with another load of wood.

“What are you doing, Sam?” he exclaimed

“Jes’ puttin’ the rolls in, s’all,” Sam said guiltily.

“Well, you should go sit down and relax, Sam”, Frodo said with a sigh. Sam sighed and left the kitchen before he either strangled his Master or said something he would regret later. Frodo chopped wood until his back screamed for him to stop. He had loaded the wood boxes in the parlor, bedrooms, study, and kitchen. He re-entered the kitchen, holding out his frozen hands to the fire as he tried to rub some warmth back into them. He hung his cloak up and arched his back to loosen up the muscles before he walked into the parlor. Sam sat on the settee looking dejectedly into the fire.

“Are you all right, Sam?” Frodo asked worriedly. “Would you like some tea? Maybe a blanket or…” Sam looked up at him.

“Nothin’, sir. I was jes’ thinkin’ maybe I ought to go home, s’ all,” he said quietly.

Frodo’s eyes widened. “No, you can’t Sam. You’re not strong enough. How can I take care of you if you leave?” he rushed. Sam almost laughed out loud at the last question.

“That’s why I should go, sir.” Frodo sat down slowly.

“But Sam…” he gasped. “I have to take care of you. It is because of me that you were so sick. I have to help you get better, Sam,” he said softly, his eyes damp.

“No sir, you don’t.” Sam turned towards him and said sternly, “I’m fine. I worried myself sick, Mr. Frodo. *Myself*. It weren’t yer fault and you don’t need to baby me back to health. I feel fine, sir, and yer fair driving me mad, Mr. Frodo, by not lettin’ me do anything. I know you mean well, sir, but it’s what I was *born* to do. I can’t let someone else do *for* me. I like taken care o’ you, Mr. Frodo, but I can’t have you taken care o’ me. It’s jes’ not what I do sir, if you take my meanin’?” He clasped Frodo’s hand and squeezed.

Frodo just watched Sam as he spoke. “I never thought it was *that* important to you, Sam. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me and how sorry I am that you worried for my sake.”

Sam smiled. “I know that all ready, Mr. Frodo. I’m jes’ happy yer back and fit, s’all. I don’t need more ‘n that, sir.”

Frodo swallowed thickly. “If I stop hovering over you like a mother hen, will you stay and keep me company, Sam? Bag End gets so quiet without Bilbo,” he asked softly.

Sam squeezed his hand. “O’ course I will, Mr. Frodo, long as I can do for you like usual.”

Frodo gave him a brilliant smile, then frowned. “But, you *will* rest if you get tired, won’t you, Sam? And if you need anything you *will* say something, right?”

“Yes Mr. Frodo, I promise,” Sam said, smiling.

“Well then…good. I think I’ll just go and, uh, take those sticky buns out of the oven,” Frodo said standing slowly. Before he could stop himself, he winced.

“Mr. Frodo are *you* all right, sir?”

“Just my back has been aching a little, but a cup of tea and one of those current buns should fix that up nicely.” Sam studied him worriedly. Frodo laughed. “I’m fine, Sam, just getting old.” Sam wasn’t so sure. Mr. Frodo always said he was fine when he wasn’t. _‘Perhaps I’ll keep and eye on *him* for a spell,’_ he thought and grinned. Frodo ran to the kitchen to retrieve the buns. He put a kettle on for tea and sighed. Suddenly he smiled widely. “I cured him!” he giggled. His gaze shifted to the window and he ran his fingers across the dewey pane. He wondered how Estel was faring. He missed the Ranger desperately and his eyes automatically searched the frozen landscape for any sign of the man’s return. The kettle began to whistle and he added the tea leaves, letting them steep. His gaze returned to the window as he began to daydream about the possible future life he would have with Estel. They would have a cabin and a garden all their own. The other rangers would visit, dropping by for tea or dinner. His eyes misted and he swiped at them hurriedly. He quickly spread the buttercream icing on the buns while they were still warm then pulled off two for Sam and his tea. He gathered everything onto a tray and quit the kitchen.

“Mighten’d we have another story tonight, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, once they were comfortably set with tea and rolls, Sam on the settee and Frodo in Bilbo’s old chair.

“I don’t see why not,” Frodo said cheerily. “Should I chose or would you have the honor?”

“Perhaps a tale of Annuminas and the fate of the Numenorians?” Sam thought aloud.

Frodo forced a smile, thinking of the Numenorian he was bound to. “That would be lovely, Sam.” He felt suddenly weary. “Sam, I think I’ll go read for a bit if you’re all right here. Do you need anything before I go to my study?”

Sam studied his Master’s body language before answering. “No sir, I’m a little tired. Perhaps a short nap before luncheon is in order.” Sam pretended to yawn and rose slowly.

“Excellent idea, Sam, you do look a bit tired.” Frodo poured himself another cup of tea to take with him then put his arm around Sam’s shoulders as they walked down the hallway. “Now you just let me know if you need anything, all right?” he mother-henned.

“Yes sir, I will”, Sam said patiently, a stiff smile on his face. He ducked into his room, closed the door before releasing a sigh. Frodo closed the door to the study, picked up the beautifully bound volume Elrond HalfElvin and Bilbo had collaborated on and made himself comfortable in the arm chair by the fire. _‘Perhaps this will distract me from worrying about Estel,’_ he thought. He flipped through the book, admiring the artwork and reading snatches of pages here and there, until he happened on the chapter about Men and Hobbits.

 

 **“The Medical Significance of the Interaction of Fallohides and the Race of Men”**

 **  
**

Frodo frowned. Why ever would Bilbo and Elrond specify Fallohides and Men he wondered to himself? As he began to read, he took a sip of tea. **__**

**_“Fallohides are more likely, for some reason, to co-habitate with the race of Men. It is unknown why this is, except that Fallohides have light colored eyes, finer features and are more comely than their hobbit counterparts. Fallohides have an innate curiosity about all races and lands of Middle Earth, whereas, Harfoots and Stoors prefer hearth and homeland and shy away from any dealings with outsiders. This author believes that the fact that Fallohides enjoy interaction with others means they have more contact with men and thus more relationships. There are several serious complications in intimate relationships between the two species.”_ **

 

Frodo could concede his natural curiosity sometimes got the best of him, but he had never heard of other Fallohides cohabitating with men. Hobbits as a rule didn’t think of themselves by ‘type’ of hobbit, so Frodo was particularly interested in reading more about his 'kind' of hobbit. How peculiar that Bilbo had never elaborated. He skimmed the next paragraph, choking suddenly on his tea, his eyes flying open. **__**

**_“The consideration of size is the least of these problems. Evidently the Fallohide males when mated with men, have been known to become impregnated. It is a rare occurrence but still happens in this age. It is undoubtedly a hold over from earlier times when the two species needed to increase their numbers in order to survive. Sadly, most Fallohide males are ill equipped to deliver a ½ human, ½ hobbit progeny. This is due to their slim builds, narrow hips and of course that they are male and do not have a pelvis that will spread during delivery. Current records do not exist disclosing the number of live births. This could be because the mortality rate is near 100% or that the coupling is so secret that the children are thought of as unnatural and not included in any census studies.”_ **

His heart hammered in his chest as he gasped for air. He read and re-read the page his eyes wide and frightened. **_“…mortality rate is near 100%...”_** He scanned down the page, desperately searching for some hint of this being some old wives tale or so very rare that he was exempt to this freakish aside to his ‘type’ of the hobbit race. However, he found nothing that could allay his fears. **__**

**_It can be assumed that with proper prenatal care and attendance by a knowledgeable healer the mortality rate for hobbit and child would be halved. Post-natal care is imperative to the recovery of the birth parent and includes extended bed rest which is a necessity since there is generally significant blood loss from the birthing process._ **

 

A cold chill gripped him and he pulled the shawl on the chair closer around him. “No..no…it can not be true. Bilbo’s wrong, please Eru make him be wrong…” he whispered, the book slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a thud. Frodo hardly noticed. Tears filled his expressive blue eyes, his stomach twisted dangerously and he knew he was going to be sick. He rushed through the doorway and to the water closet, barely making it in time. He vomited violently.

Sam’s door flew open and the gardener was immediately at his side, smoothing the hair out of his face and whispering reassurances to him. “Mr. Frodo?” he asked worriedly. Frodo rose shakily, bracing his hand on Sam’s shoulder. As Frodo turned towards him, Sam saw that Frodo’s face was devoid of color and that sweat beaded his forehead.

“’Probably just something I ate,” Frodo mumbled and, moving as if in a trance, made his way back to his study.

Sam followed closely behind him concerned at the sudden change in Frodo’s mood. “Would you like me to make some ginger tea or make for you sir?” Sam asked nervously.

Frodo stared straight ahead, crossing the threshold of the study. He turned at last towards Sam and gave his friend a strained smile. “No Sam, it was nothing, just a one time thing, I’m sure. I’m fine now, thank you”, the smile fled his face as he closed the door with a snick. Sam stood there staring at the door for a long time, listening. He started to knock again, but stopped himself. He could hear muffled sobbing from the other side of the door, then a mumbled “Oh Estel, I am so sorry. Whatever am I to do now?” Reluctantly, Sam slowly walked back to his room, wishing as he frequently did, that Frodo would open up about his problems, but he knew that the Master kept his worries close so as not to concern others. Frodo curled up on the window seat, pulling the wool throw over his trembling body and hugging himself tightly. The rape replayed over and over in his mind and he knew how and when his fate had been sealed. “This cannot be…..Estel, where are you? I need you so...” he sobbed softly. He slipped into a dark dream. He was being chased, forever chased, claws raked over his skin and clothing all the while his tormentors laughed raucously.

TBC


	22. Haste

**  
**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.**   
**

I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of, if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.

 ****Synopsis: In our last chapter, Frodo discovers the reason for all the changes in his body and wonders where Estel is and why he hasn’t heard from him.

Rating is NC17

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

 

It had been nearly two weeks since Frodo had discovered the shocking news of his condition. His hand drifted to his rounded stomach without even realizing it. He stared out the round window at the stark predawn of late winter. The cold darkness mirrored his mood. He had sunk deeper and deeper into a depression that threatened to overwhelm him. “Perhaps today will be the day I hear from him,” he whispered to himself. It had been nearly six weeks since Estel had left on his patrol of the Shire with no word from the Ranger. Each day Frodo would rush from the smial to greet Bella Smallburrow, and each day she left the crestfallen Master of Bag End with only the normal flood of invitations to parties and letters from distant relatives, yet no news from his Ranger. He desperately needed to hear from Estel. Not only would Frodo be reassured of Estel’s well being but he also needed to know that Estel still loved and cared for him. Estel would comfort him and make him feel safe again. Estel would profess his continued love and support… if only he would write. Frodo desperately needed those reassurances. Alone, his mind worked overtime and as each day passed without word from his lover, he began to doubt Estel’s feelings for him. More and more he thought about leaving the Shire. He would go and find Estel. He knew he had to eventually leave Bag End… he would be shunned, an outcast. He knew that he could endure these hardships as long as he had Estel in his life. After he explained his situation to Estel, they would be together and have the life they had talked about. All of these thoughts seemed to run around and around in his mind, robbing him of sleep until he felt he was losing his sanity. _‘Perhaps he has had time to think on our relationship and realized his folly,’_ Frodo thought, his stomach churned painfully. _'You are unnatural. Why would he want to be bound to someone like you?_ ' A voice whispered in his head. _He will not want you or that which you carry, even as *you* do not want it._ He swallowed thickly. If only this had never happened. They could have had a wonderful life together and now…Frodo was sure beyond a doubt, that his current situation would be tantamount to being a leper to Estel. What will I do if he recoils in disgust, if he cannot bear to look on me? _You know the laws of the Shire. You should have languished in the wild._ His shoulders slumped as he slowly turned his attentions to dressing and making his way to the kitchen to prepare the morning meal.

**************************************************************

Estel had unceremoniously dropped the two bedraggled prisoners with Finn Wallcot, the Sheriff of Bree. The Sheriff had assured him that he would see them tried when the circuit judge returned. The judge was a man who had pronounced swift and fair sentencing on riff-raff such as these in the past. Estel had not slept in days but instead of resting at the Prancing Pony as he usually did, he decided to check with Butterbur for any mail from Frodo then visit the local hobbit healer, who was also a friend, to see if the woman might have answers for him about Frodo’s condition. He crossed to the Pony and entered, stopping at the counter.

Butterbur flinched when he saw who had caused the door’s bell to ring. “Strider,” he said simply.

“I am expecting some post,” Estel said brusquely.

“Aye, I’ve many—six in total,” the innkeeper said, raising his eyebrows. “Now where did I put those?” he muttered to himself. “Ahh…yes, now I remember,” he continued. “Never known the likes o’ you to get post and from the Shire, no less,” he said, hoping for more information. None was forthcoming and he grunted as he handed the bundle to Estel.

“My thanks,” Estel responded, taking the bundle, and walking to a table in the corner of the room. He settled into the chair, stretching out his legs.

“Would you be wantin’ a meal?” Butterbur asked as he followed behind the Ranger. Estel realized he hadn’t eaten since the night he had read Elrond’s book and made the discovery concerning Frodo.

“That would be good…whatever you have, I care not,” he said with a wave of his hand. Butterbur grunted and left to fill the Ranger’s order. Estel anxiously ripped open the letters, beginning with the earliest ones. He smiled as he read them, hearing the clear, ringing voice of his love in every word. Frodo detailed how he was taking care of Sam and Bag End since the gardener was still on the mend. Wistful words of missing him and confirmations of his love abounded and Estel’s eyes filled with tears as he felt his heart give a pang of longing. Frodo ended with a prayer that he would be safe and return soon. The first letters were several pages long and written in Frodo’s beautiful, flowing script. Estel opened the 2nd and then the 3rd letters noticing, with a frown, that the handwriting was more shaky and the pages were covered with blots of ink and wrinkled as if they had become wet. They were also much shorter.

 _My Dearest Estel- I hope this letter finds you well and that you are warm and safe. I worry about you at night when it is so cold. The Sun came out the other day and it was gloriously bright. One never realizes how little sunlight they see during the winter until it finally peeks through the clouds and dazzles your eyes as it hits the snow. Sam is doing well. He is almost completely recovered and I am developing quite the physique doing all of his chores for him. You won’t even recognize me with all my new muscles. He does so hate being taken care off and threatened to return to #3 if I didn’t start letting him help out again. I had to relent. I would be much too lonely without him and he still needs more care than he thinks he does. I caught him shoveling the snow off the walk the other day and I was furious with him. So I chopped all of his wood and filled the wood boxes to get back at him. We are like an old married couple with all of our bickering back and forth, but we do so enjoy having meals together and reading tales at night with a glass of Bilbo’s wine. I haven’t heard from you and I worry that you are well. I think of you constantly and hope you do the same of me. I hope you are receiving my posts and that, you will be able to reply soon. Well, I suppose I should end this letter so I can post it. I miss you, Estel. Please write soon and let me know that you are still thinking of me as well._

 _Yours affectionately, Frodo_

 _‘He is beginning to doubt my love for him,’_ Estel thought with concern. _‘Does he really believe I would forget him so easily?_ _His self-esteem has been shattered by what happened to him. I fear he will never feel worthy of love again,’_ he thought to himself. He skimmed the other letters quickly. It wasn’t hard as they were short; wondering where he was and why he had not written. The handwriting was significantly different, so unlike the first two letters. Estel tore open the last letter, which was only a short note.

 _Dearest Estel- I have heard nothing from you and am becoming increasingly worried about you. Have you changed your mind about us, perhaps thinking our bond to each other unnatural or perhaps you have realized that you are not really in love with me after all? I would not blame you if you had realized you had made a mistake and that I am not worthy of your affections. Perhaps you do not wish to consort with a hobbit who has been sullied by wickedness and are trying to distance yourself from me. I know I sound horribly insecure but I have so much time on my hands without you here. I have always been one to over think situations and imagine problems where there truly are none. I do worry so about you and hope you will contact me soon._

 _All my love, Frodo._

Estel winced. He should have found a way to contact Frodo. He knew it would take much reassurance and many long years of tenderness and love to allay Frodo’s fears. _‘But how could I have sent a post? I was deep in the wilderness.’_ He thought. _‘You should have found a way.’_ A small voice chided him in his head. He hurriedly collected the letters and pocketed them.

Butterbur approached and placed his food in front of him. “Here you go, Strider,” he said.

Strider thanked him and Butterbur left. He quickly ate the scrambled eggs, chunked potatoes, bread, and sausages without even tasting it. He rose, collected his things and after leaving some coin, gave Butterbur a nod, and quit the inn. He crossed the square feeling a renewed sense of urgency to get to Frodo as quickly as possible. First, he needed to see Bluebell Woodbind, the hobbit healer. Bluebell only took care of hobbits. Even though she was a woman, the local small folk trusted her implicitly. He arrived at her cottage and knocked on the door.

“Strider! What a lovely surprise,” she said cheerily, as she swung the human sized round door open. “Come in, come in. I have a patient I am just finishing up with and then we can have some tea”, she smiled brightly. Bluebell was young by healer standards, no more than her thirties, slender with large blue eyes. She had her black hair held into a long plait that went down her back to her small waist. Her smile always made him feel welcome and he imagined that her cheery, happy nature was what endeared her so to her hobbit clientele.

“I am sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time” Strider apologized, looking uncomfortable.

“Nonsense, come in, we’re just finishing up.” She closed the door behind him, escorted him to a small sitting area, and then excused herself. He could hear animated chatter coming from the back room as he paced the sitting room. His attention was drawn to a wall of tiny portraits of even tinier infants. He smiled, feeling new wonder at how very small hobbit babies were. His thoughts turned to Frodo and he couldn’t help but wonder if the babe he carried would look like these. Then he shuddered at the thought of what a human sized baby would do to him. His reverie was cut short by the happy conversations of the two females as Bluebell led her patient to the door.

“…I am sorry, Mistress, that I haven’t the coin for today,” a pretty, very pregnant hobbitess was saying. She looked nervously at Estel, stepping back a pace as he rose.

 _‘How tragic to see the fear in their eyes whenever they deal with men,’_ Estel thought.

“Nonsense, I would be more than willing to take a bushel of vegetables in payment, if you have any to spare. That would more than pay any fees”, Bluebell reassured her, holding her hand. The healer couldn’t help noticing the hobbitess’s pulse jump upon seeing Estel. “Junna, this is a dear friend and fellow healer, Strider,” she said softly, pulling Strider over to meet the girl.

“My pleasure to meet you, Junna,” Strider said with a bow. He lowered himself to one knee so as not to look threatening. “When is your babe expected, if I may ask?” he asked softly.

Junna smiled shyly. “Nigh on one more month Mr. Strider. ‘Tis our first and we are very excited.”

He beamed at her. “I can well imagine. Is Mistress Bluebell treating you well?”

“Oh yes. She is a blessing, she is.” Junna studied the man’s gray eyes as they sparkled at her. He smiled widely. She noted that while he looked unkempt she felt only kindness directed towards her. “Well…vegetables then. Are you sure, Mistress?” she asked tearing her eyes away from Strider’s handsome face and looking up at Bluebell.

Bluebell grinned. Strider was dashing and she knew that this hobbitess had come under his spell as so many of the female population of Bree had. She doubted the man was even aware of the looks that followed him in the little town. “That is all I require, Junna. How would that be?”

“Oh fine, Miss. We had wonderful crops this last year and I have apples, cabbages, potatoes, and carrots in my root cellar.” She looked relieved.

“Excellent. Just what I need”, Bluebell said with a huge smile and patted Junna’s shoulder.

“It was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, sir,” Junna said hesitantly, extending her hand.

Strider took the small hand in his, placing a light kiss to the back. “The pleasure was all mine, Mistress. Take good care of yourself.” He smiled.

Junna was completely flabbergasted when Estel had kissed her hand. No one, hobbit or man, had ever done such a thing with her. She forced her mouth closed with a snap and blushed. She turned for the door and Bluebell, covering her mouth to squelch a smile, lead her out. “Good day,” Junna said as she walked dazedly out the door.

The door closed and Bluebell fell back against it with a bubbly giggle. “Oh, you are such a scoundrel, you are”, she laughed.

He rose with a smirk. “I do not know of what you speak, dear lady”, he chuckled. “It saddens me that hobbits are so fearful of men,” he said, losing the smile.

“Well…look at your rascally Ranger clothing. Of course they look at you in fear” she said with a giggle. She left the room, returning shortly with a tea setting and biscuits, and placed it on the table.

Estel looked down at his worn, muddy cloak and boots. “I did not realize I looked that imposing”, he smiled.

Once the tea had been poured and they had made themselves comfortable, she eyed him over her cup as she took a sip of the tea. “And what do I have the honor of your visit this day, Estel?” she said, slipping into the familiar name that only a rare few knew. Do you need some herbs or is it something else?”

Strider gave her a grim smile. “I would welcome the herbs, athelas especially if you have any to spare, but I come mostly seeking advice.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Advice? Hmm…well, I will do what I can.”

“This will sound outlandish but have you ever treated a pregnancy in a male hobbit before?” he asked, hoping she would say that such a thing was not possible.

The smile vanished and her face lost all color. She set the cup down slowly and Estel couldn’t help noticing how her hands shook. She rose and walked slowly to the window crossing her arms around herself. “I know more than I wish, Estel,” she whispered. “How far along?” she asked, still looking out the window.

“Four perhaps five months.”

She whirled around and stared at him wide eyed. “It is imperative he receives care now if he is to survive. Why did you not bring him with you?”

“He is in the Shire. I do not know if he is aware of his condition as yet.”

Bluebell gave him a wry smile. “I imagine if he hasn’t figured it out he will shortly. The Shire?” she said in alarm. “You must go to him. When he finds out, he will be confused and frightened. He will have to leave before his situation is noticeable to the rest of the inhabitants and he may be at risk to himself,” she said as she began to pace restlessly.

“What do you mean?” Estel stood and turned her towards him. “What do you mean by ‘a risk to himself’?”

She stopped, rolling her eyes, and gave him a look that seemed to say ‘Men, however do you get by in the world without women to guide you?’ “Estel, he could only have become pregnant if he has had relations with a man…was it you?”

Estel’s eyes flew open. He wouldn’t tell her that he and Frodo had been intimate *since* the hobbit had been raped. “No! He…he was raped by two men. One of my Rangers brought him to our cabin and I cared for him. I did not know that this was even a physical possibility. Only recently did I discover a text on hobbits’ by Elrond HalfElven and Bilbo Baggins that detailed the anomaly.

She smiled having known both the Elven Lord and Bilbo. “Yes, the book they wrote together is an excellent source of material on hobbits’ and their interactions with men. Sadly, the interactions are almost always due to rape in this region near the Shire.” She turned and looked at him. “You know the laws dictated by hobbit kind, Estel.” He nodded. Her eyes became distant as she continued. “Most of the Fallohides are filled with shame and guilt even though the actions that led to their predicament are due to no fault of their own. I have treated three. All have died, as have the babies. They know they cannot return home and that they are outcasts, called unnatural in any village or town occupied by hobbits.” She looked him in the eye. “They lose hope. They think themselves dirty and forever tarnished, unworthy of love, hearth, or home. I have treated three but have known of many, many more. They never came to term. Once they discovered their situation, they took their own lives”, she closed her eyes.

“No, he would not do that! He knows…” Estel rushed, his eyes filled with panic.

“You have feelings for him.” It was not a question. She placed her hand on his arm. “That is well. It may be enough to give him hope.” She gave him a small smile. Setting her jaw, she crossed to a high bookcase. “Here, this is what you, and he,” she gave him a knowing look“, can expect.” She unrolled a parchment. “I drew diagrams from what I learned from the hobbits I treated.” Estel couldn’t help notice a quaver in her voice. The bubbly cheer that usually suffused her being had fled replaced with one of urgency. “They develop a womb, of sorts, behind the male genitalia. As they near the 5th or 6th month a rudimentary birth canal develops here”, she pointed to the drawing. “I would like to care for him with you permission and his of course.

Estel nodded. “I can think of no one else more qualified.”

She smiled brightly, and Estel realized how much he had missed that cheerfulness that was so much of her personality, even for the short time they had been talking. “Bring him to me? I have a small cottage out back that he could stay in without being seen.”

“I am going there now to retrieve him.”

“You must hurry, Estel. It is a real risk if he is left to his own thoughts for too long. The hobbit culture is very clear on this. They do not speak of it except in private but if a hobbit is defiled, they know that they will be shunned. He will die if you do not intercede, the stress will be too much for him to handle.

Estel nodded. “I will leave at once. Hopefully I will return within a fortnight.”

She nodded then rushed to a small closet and retrieved athelas and other herbs for pain, sleep and one to stop contractions. She placed them in several small bags and tied them with twine, the labeled each. “Here, you may have need of these”, she said and pushed him towards the door. “He is lucky to have you, Estel. Return soon”, she smiled before closing the door behind him. She watched from the window as he crossed the muddy road towards the stable, her smile fading slowly until it was absent from her face. “I hope you are in time, my friend,” she whispered.

TBC


	23. Prelude to a Fall

This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of, if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.

Synopsis: An impatient Frodo decides to set out for Bree in search of Estel.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Frodo picked at the food, pushing it wearily around the plate. “You didn’t need to fix breakfast again, Mr. Frodo. I woulda been happy to do it, sir.” Sam eyed his Master worriedly, noting the paler than normal skin and dark circles under the blue eyes.

Frodo looked up and smiled wanly. “Let me spoil you a bit, Sam. You’ve always been so good to me and Bag End.” His eyes slowly swiveled towards the window and the frigid landscape. It was foggy today, the air shimmering as the Sun tried to peak through and succeeded only in bouncing off the dense particles.

Sam studied his Master’s profile as he ate. ’Too thin by far. He looks like he’s wastin’ away, except for his stomach,’ he thought. Frodo had filled out enough to pass as a typical hobbit, not heavy by far, but not rail thin as he had always been. It seemed as if he had gained padding around his middle while becoming thinner everywhere else. Sam prattled on about what he was doing that day. Sweeping the steps and laying salt so no one would slip on the ice. “And I’ll be needin’ to chop more wood for the fires…”

“I have to leave, Sam.” Frodo blurted.

Sam stopped mid sentence, a fork full of eggs half way to his mouth. “You jes’ got back! Where would you be goin’, Mr. Frodo” It’s still too cold to be out and about,” Sam exclaimed.

Frodo looked up guiltily. “Sam, I have to find Estel. I haven’t heard anything from him and I’m worried something might have happened to him.” He said softly. Seeing the desperation in Sam’s face, he tried to smile reassuringly. “Sam, I am perfectly capable of making my way to Bree, even in the cold.” He placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “I can stay at the Prancing Pony where Estel’s men stay when they’re in town. I can camp the first night then stay in Frogmorton the second,” he rushed.

“Mr. Frodo, can’t you jes’ wait a bit longer? He’ll be in touch with you soon enough. There’s no sense in rushing out the door after him especially while the weather’s so unpredictable,” Sam begged, his eyes filling with tears.

“Sam, I have to go. I can’t wait any longer. I promise I’ll be all right. If I see any Big Folk I’ll hide. Please, Sam, you must let me to do this”, Frodo implored.

Sam swiped at his eyes. “Mr. Frodo, he’s a big, strong man with a long sword, he can take care of hisself.” He grumped.

Frodo smiled. “Yes Sam, I’m sure I’m worrying for nothing but you do understand, don’t you? I love him and I have not heard one word from him. You would feel the same if it were Rosie, wouldn’t you?”

“Rosie wouldn’t be senseless enough to be out wanderin’ this time of year”, Sam blurted. Frodo grimaced. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Frodo, it’s jes’ that it’s right cold at night and what if we get another storm or if you fall and break your leg or if…” Sam’s eyes had steadily widened as he went on thinking of the various scenarios that could plague his Master.

“Sam, be reasonable. I *do* have common sense enough to find shelter if a storm is coming and I will be very careful not to break anything,” he failed to quash a giggle. Sam glared at him and Frodo endeavored to assume a more serious mien. “While I am gone I want you to manage Bag End. I’ll send posts to all the renters and tell them they are to speak to you if anything is needed. Plus there will be orchards that will need tending as spring comes…”

“Jes’ how long will you be gone anyway, Mr. Frodo? Them orchards are a month or more away from needing aught”, Sam panicked.

“I don’t know how long I will be gone, Sam. I will write to you when I reach Bree, I promise.” He didn’t mention that he had already had his Will made out with the requisite three signatures in red ink and that he had left everything to Sam in case something happened to him. “You are not to worry about me this time, Sam. If I return and find you in a dither or thin with dark circles under your eyes, well…you’ll be in for it!” Frodo threatened weakly.

Sam knew that the Master was all bluff and wouldn’t even know *what* punishment to met out. “Yes, Mr. Frodo”, Sam sighed. “I’ll still worry sir, it’s jes’ my way…”

“Just don’t worry yourself sick this time, Sam. Please, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” Frodo said earnestly.

“I feel the same, Mr. Frodo. You are comin’ back, aren’t you?” he murmured.

“Of course, Sam, once I know that Estel is all right, I’ll come home, I promise.” He smiled reassuringly.

“And you promise to be careful, sir?”

“I will, Sam. Really, what could possibly happen?”

Sam frowned. “I’ll do some bakin’ today so you have some fresh bread and scones to take with you. When will you be leavin’?”

“Tomorrow morning, I think.” Frodo rose and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you Sam, to take care of Bag End.” Sam knew that it was Frodo’s attempt to give him something to occupy his time while he was away. He didn’t want Sam to worry so he was hoping he could distract the gardener. Unfortunately, Sam was wise to all of Frodo’s tactics, he always had been, but now he had to try to put aside the gnawing anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach telling him to stop Frodo from leaving and pretend all was well instead. Frodo went to his bedroom and closed the door, slumping back against it with a sigh. “Well, that was harder than I thought”, he whispered. He organized what to pack then went back to the kitchen. Sam was humming to himself as he kneaded dough and dropped it into the pans. “Thank you Sam, for taking care of me,” Frodo said with a smile. He left the room and went to his study.

“Fine lot it’ll do you sir, if I’m not with ya,” Sam muttered.

****************************************************************************************

Frodo set out the next morning just after sunrise. The air had a bite to it as he crunched through the snow to stand in front of Bag End. His pack was crammed with food and warm clothing and, undoubtedly, a few extra things placed inside lovingly by Samwise. He turned towards the gardener. “Remember Sam, you’re not to worry. At least this time I’m giving you a proper farewell and not just vanishing as before.”

Sam looked tense as he fussed with Frodo’s double bedroll on top of the pack. “Jes’ don’t get into any trouble, Mr. Frodo and return straightaway after you’ve found Mr. Strider.”

“Trouble? My dear Sam, I’ll have you know I never *look* for trouble,” Frodo said with a grin.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Sam muttered.

Frodo grinned and gave the gardener a hug. “Take care of Bag End. I’ve talked with Daisy and the Gaffer and they’ll be looking in on you as well.”

Sam harrumphed. “That wasn’t necessary, Mr. Frodo. I promise I’ll not worry over much if you promise to be careful.”

Frodo promised, though he knew Sam would worry no matter what the circumstances were. With a pat to his friend’s shoulder, Frodo gave Sam a huge smile and a wave then started down the hill towards Bywater. Sam watched him until he was out of sight then stomped his feet and went back inside. Frodo made relatively good progress considering the condition of the road. As the Sun’s weak heat warmed the roadway, it became more and more slushy and slick. He was bundled, warmly and began to shed layers as the walking heated his body. He passed the Three Farthing Stone at mid-day and took a cold lunch. He continued walking until he came to the junction of the East Road and the road running north to Dwaling. He decided to camp for the night beside The Water and found a suitable site under some oak trees. He dug a shallow fire pit with a metal scoop he had brought for just that purpose and lined it with rocks. Before long, he had a small fire going and heated water for tea then fried some bacon, eggs, and pan toast for dinner. The ground was wet from the melting snow but he had gathered a small pile of leaves and placed them closer to the fire and they steamed as they dried while he ate his dinner and drank his tea. When he finally lay his bedroll down on the leaves they were mostly dry, and he slept comfortably. The next day he made his way back to the East Road and directed his feet towards Frogmorton where he had plans to stay at the inn. He made Frogmorton in such good time, he decided to continue on to Whitfurrows and stay at the Sallyho Inn. The inn was small, having but three rooms and a common room, but the beds were comfortable and the room price included a bath, which was all Frodo really wanted. As he soaked in the steaming water, he felt proud of himself for covering the distance from Bag End to Whitfurrows in quick time. He thought of Estel and prayed he was well. He could think of nothing that would have kept the Ranger from a post or a visit except his scouting or dimming of interest in Frodo. Frodo’s stomach knotted at the thought. What would he do if Estel told him he’d had time to reconsider their relationship? Or, for that matter, how would Estel react to Frodo’s unasked for pregnancy? How would you feel if the one you loved were carrying a child by another? How would you feel if another man had planted his seed during such a brutal attack? His mind whirled. “I would accept the child willingly because it was not that person’s fault it had happened and it would still be part of the one I loved,” he murmured. Would you? his mind persisted. Would you really? Be honest with yourself. Sadly, Frodo couldn’t answer the nagging questions that plagued him. He couldn’t even conceive of Estel being in such a predicament without laughing, so he pictured Sam instead. He pondered on this some more and placing his hand on the small mound of his stomach, knew what he would do if Estel rejected him or turned away in disgust. He had felt no feelings other than regret and loathing towards the child. He felt tremendous guilt for this but each time he thought of the babe he was reminded of how it was conceived. The child was an innocent in the whole affair, yet all that came to mind was Wulf and Gant leering down at him, their faces twisted in lust. The child was of that unwanted union and all he desired was for it to be gone from his body. He now knew why Shire law was so specific about the unasked for association between men and hobbits and wished he had been successful at ending his own life. Except for Estel. The man had changed everything by loving and caring for him. Without Estel he would have been broken and would have wandered in the wilderness until he had finally perished. Estel’s name meant ‘hope’ and that is what Frodo now clung to for his very survival. Without Estel, there was no hope and thus no reason to continue, pregnancy or no.

Shaking these thoughts from his brain, Frodo toweled off, dressed, and went to the common room for some supper. The maid that waited on him was cheery and plump and Frodo discovered that her name was Sally and that the inn was her and her husbands. The common room was empty save for himself, and she brought him a heaping bowl of lamb stew and bread. He devoured his meal along with an ale just as Sally brought him some lovely jam tartlets and tea for afters. After he ate the tartlets, which were divine, and drank his tea, he paid for the meal and turned in. Frodo’s dreams were troubled. He dreamt he lay on a long bed, blood was everywhere as Estel stood and looked down at him. It is for the best. Such a child is unnatural and I couldn’t have loved it or its’ bearer. Better this filth be gone than have to look on it each day. Frodo awoke panting harshly and burst into sobs, finally crying himself back to sleep. The next day dawned clear and cold as Frodo made his way to the common room for breakfast. The nightmares had left him feeling un-rested and filled with foreboding. Sally brought him some scones and tea and he nibbled distractedly on them as his stomach threatened to rebel at any moment. Finally, he gave up the pretense of eating, said his goodbyes to Sally and her husband, and quit the inn, pushing on towards the Brandywine Bridge. The going was slow as the road was slushy, muddy, and rutted. He gained the bridge, pausing to stare at the ferocious rush of snowmelt that careened beneath him and that had filled the banks of the river. He crossed and continued on, determined to walk until sunset, but soon the road became a quagmire and Frodo found he had to walk in the snow alongside the road instead, just to keep his footing. He hadn’t seen anyone since he’d left Hobbiton except for an occasional post wagon. He pushed on until exhaustion from wading through the drifts took its toll and he was forced to stop for the night. He found a copse of trees not unlike those that he and Estel had stayed under on their way to Hobbiton. He crawled under the boughs and found himself in a large inner area sheltered by the pine’s canopy. He felt a pang of loneliness, wishing Estel were with him to keep him warm. A small sob escaped his lips and he swiped at the tears that suddenly filled his eyes. He desperately missed the Ranger and for one fleeting moment, thought to continue onwards towards Bree, walking through the night if he had to, just to see him again. He dismissed the idea out of hand. He was exhausted and knew he needed to eat and rest then he could set off at first light.

He pulled his scoop from his pack and dug a hole in the center of the circle. He lined the bottom with rock then gathered dead branches for a small fire. He remembered how Estel had *spoke* to the trees to gain their permission and reassure them that the fire would bring them no harm. Feeling a trifle silly, he placed his hand on the living bark and closed his eyes. He pictured in his mind a low fire for tea, supper, and warmth carefully banked at night and doused thoroughly come morning. He opened his eyes in wonder. He could not explain it, but for some odd reason a feeling of calm had filled him as if the trees had understood his intentions. He smiled a little, tipping his head back as he gazed up at the canopy. He put a small pot of water on for tea then drew a pan, tomatoes, potatoes, an onion, bacon, and a pan out of his sack. He sliced the vegetables and plopped them into the bacon grease to fry. After he’d eaten he leaned back against one of the trunks and pulled out his pipe. He drank his tea and smoked for some time then reached back into the bag, extracting the beautifully bound book by Bilbo and Elrond. He sighed then opened it to the dog-eared pages he had read so many times. If he was to have a child, it was time to figure out how he was going to do it.

The next morning was foggy and frigid. The road had a thick covering of ice and Frodo had a hard time keeping his feet. He knew that as the day wore on the ice would melt and the road would change to a muddy soup instead. He had decided to rise early and stay to the edges in the hopes of maintaining more traction. By afternoon he was once again, wading through the snow off to the right of the road. He could tell he was getting closer to Bree because he was seeing more traffic on the road. Wagons with frowning men and women that stared down at him as they passed and the occasional hobbit riding a pony or driving a buggy passed him. He nodded to the latter but they were no friendlier than the Big Folk he had seen.

He came to a rickety, low bridge and frowned. He had only been to Bree once or twice but didn’t remember any bridges past the Brandywine Bridge. He walked up on the bridge and looked down, understanding at once why there was a bridge in this odd place. The road had washed out and a culvert had formed in its place. It was filled to the brim with swiftly moving runoff from the snows, the water cutting and clawing at the banks as it rushed along. Huge boulders and large chunks of ice were lifted and carried along as if they were no more than twigs. With a deafening roar, the power of the flood was both frightening and mesmerizing. The bridge wobbled precariously as Frodo carefully walked to the edge to watch the torrent rush beneath him. The spray from the river had frozen and thawed many times on the low bridge, leaving behind a thick layer of ice. A makeshift railing had been erected to keep the wagons from falling into the torrent but it was poorly constructed and gave under Frodo’s hands. His feet slipped and he looked down. The ice looked like worn glass and the mist from the water fogged lightly over its surface making it appear as if it were a living, breathing entity. Frodo shuddered at the thought as he took a step backwards.

He heard a noise and he spun around, searching the landscape. His breath caught as he saw Estel wave from the treeline, mount Galest and commence crossing the expanse of snow as he head towards Frodo. Ecstatic, Frodo lurched towards the center of the bridge intent on running to the Ranger. His joy was short lived as he slipped, his feet going out from under him. He landed hard, a surprised look on his face as his body continued to slide out over the edge of the bridge. Frodo grappled at the ice, but found no purchase. He looked up towards Estel and saw that the man was bent low over Galest’s neck, the horse flying across the snow towards the bridge, Estel’s eyes full with naked fear as they locked with his own terrified ones. The hobbit’s expression slowly changed from terror, to regret, then finally to acceptance as his tenuous grip failed and he plummeted from the bridge into the seething morass below.

TBC


	24. On the Edge

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

Synopsis: An impatient Frodo decides to set out for Bree in search of Estel. An unexpected fall turns into a life or death race for shelter.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 24

Frodo grasped desperately for purchase with the glaze of ice at the side of the bridge, leaving his fingers bloodied and flayed. He briefly locked eyes with Estel, the man bent nearly flat out over Galest’s neck as he raced to make a futile attempt to catch Frodo before he hit the frigid water. It is said that ones life flashes before their eyes as death approaches, but this was not the case for Frodo. As he fell, he grieved for Bilbo and Estel, knowing how his death would affect them. At least he would be spared the look of loathing in Estel’s eyes when the man’s eyes fell on his bloated body, he thought to himself. He braced himself for impact, knowing how extremely cold the water would be. Then all thought, all worries, left him as he hit the water. His breath was forced explosively from him as he slammed into the rocks below and the current rolled and turned him as it would so much flotsam. The torrent tumbled and slammed him against the boulders; a sudden sharp pain in his back momentarily stunned him. After his head made a particularly violent collision with a boulder, his struggles all but ceased, now too dazed and only dimly aware of the numbness in his limbs. The water carried him over an especially sharp edged rock and into a shallow pool below, and there it held him on the sandy bottom. A sense of peace washed over him as his lungs gave up all pretense of filling. The last thought he had was of Estel and the softness of the man’s lips on his own and the loving look in his eyes whenever the man had looked at him. Then his vision narrowed until all was dark and silent.

**********************************************************************************************

Estel flew across the snowy landscape to the waters edge, launching himself from Galest’s back, and frantically searching the rushing torrent. Seeing no sign of Frodo he ran into the water and furiously ran from rock to rock. He was oblivious to the temperature of the water and the push of it on his body. He screamed Frodo’s name, taking in great ragged gasps as he raced amongst the boulders. He came to a small weir of rocks forming a miniature waterfall and pool. Something caught his eye, the slow wave of material at the bottom of the pool. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw two half-lidded blue eyes staring, unseeing, up at him. “NO!” he screamed as he plunged his arm into the pool and yanked the small body to him. Clutching the limp form closely to him, he leapt from the river and sprinted to Galest. The horse became agitated when she saw her Master’s burden. Estel spread his slicker on the ground and lay Frodo on it. He found a thready pulse and placing his ear to Frodo’s mouth, listened for signs of life. He gazed at Frodo’s chest for any signs of inhalation and saw no indication that the hobbit was breathing. He tipped Frodo’s chin back, looking inside the small mouth for debris then placed his mouth over Frodo’s and blew. _“Easy..easy..he is much smaller than you. Go slow”_ , his mind murmured, as he struggled for some semblance of calm and control. Frodo’s chest rose slowly with each breath given, filling his lungs. Estel jumped up, grabbing his bedroll, and then spreading it on the snow. He tore the wet clothes from Frodo’s lifeless body and rolled the hobbit within the blankets. Then he resumed the breathes. It seemed forever before, quite suddenly, Frodo’s body erupted in coughs. Estel turned him onto his side just as water fountained from his body. Estel had been crying since he had dragged Frodo from the river and now huge hitching sobs of relief escaped him as he pulled Frodo to his chest and clutched at him convulsively. “My love…my love…” he croaked repeatedly as he rocked Frodo back and forth on his knees. Frodo did not respond, but Estel was not worried as he heard ragged breathes coming from him. Estel smile faltered slightly as his blanketed package trembled violently. Bone shaking shivers engulfed the smaller body and Estel noticed, for the first time, his own body trembling violently. He cared little for his own well-being but Frodo needed a fire and warmth before his body shutdown from hypothermia. Estel darted glances around the area looking for any form of shelter. Seeing none, he clutched Frodo to him as he wrapped them both in his slicker. He mounted Galest in a lunge without using his hands and pressed his knees into her side, turning her towards Bree. “Fly Galest. Fly with all speed, my friend,” he shouted and Galest leapt from the snow, racing across the expanse until she had regained the road. Estel hunkered down over the horse’s neck as he continued to scan the hillsides for any kind of shelter. He knew they were too far from Bree for Galest to keep up the pace, but he hoped to spot some form of sanctuary where they could have a fire and he could look Frodo over more thoroughly. At last, a small shack came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney and Estel directed Galest towards this small oasis. Clasping Frodo to him, he vaulted from the horse and raced to the door of the shack. He pushed the door open and crossed a small, but clean, living area to the crackling fire.

“By what right do you enter my home?” A florid faced elderly man demanded.

Estel spoke as he added wood to the fire until it roared. “I mean you no harm, but have urgent need of your fire. My companion and I have had an accident and he is quite cold. We will be gone as soon as he is warmed.” Estel glanced over at the man who sat in an overstuffed chair nearby. “I would be in your debt for your assistance,” Estel continued, pleadingly.

The man rose and crossed to Estel. “Very well, but I have little else to offer you and your friend in the way of comfort. If you were not obviously in need, I would insist you leave. I do not trust strangers. There are too many ruffians on the roads nowadays.” The man glanced towards the window.

Estel nodded. “I understand and I apologize for my sudden entrance. I would have asked for your help before entering were it not for my great need.”

The man nodded and looked down at Frodo. “Why it’s a boy! Why didn’t you say so?”

“Nay, not a boy…a hobbit, and he was in the water for some minutes before I could pull him to safety. He has many wounds I will need to treat. He was tossed quite brutally against the rocks.”

“He looks dead. Are you sure he yet lives?” The man said, seeing the absence of color in Frodo’s face and the blue tinged lips.

“He yet draws breath but is gravely injured,” Estel murmured as he began to run his hands over Frodo’s chest, looking for broken ribs.

“I shall find some extra blankets for you both.” The man studied Frodo’s now exposed body as he watched Estel feel for broken bones and internal injuries. “Fattest hobbit I ever seen,” he murmured before leaving to gather the comforters. Estel grimaced. The man returned shortly with three or four heavy quilts and Estel took them gratefully, rolling Frodo into them all until the hobbit was all but hidden from view. “I have some leftover soup from supper that you’re welcome to, stranger.”

“I thank you. He is yet unconscious but as soon as he begins to stir, I would accept your kind offer. Might you have some hot water bottles or a bed warmer I might use?”

“Aye, I’ve both.” The man left the two as he went in search for the items. Soon he returned and began scooping hot coals from the fire into the warmer. He then wrapped it in toweling and placed it within reach of Estel.

“I thank you,” Estel said. He checked that the warmer was not too hot then placed it under Frodo’s feet. The man next poured boiling water from a kettle into two hot water bottles, wrapped them in more toweling, and handed them to Estel. The ranger placed one on each side of the hobbit then sat back on his haunches. He hung his head and sighed.

“Here now, you’re still shiverin’. Let’s get you out o’ them wet clothes and into somethin’ dry,” the man said softly.

“I must tend to my horse first…” Estel began.

“I will put him in the barn with my ponies while you change your clothing, my friend,” the man said kindly.

Estel looked up at the man. “You are most kind, good sir, I do not know how to thank you.”

The man blustered a bit, as he tried to regain his gruff demeanor. He was unsuccessful. “Nonsense. ‘Jes doin’ what’s right, is all. Can’t have the little fellow dyin’ in my home, now can I? “’Jes give the neighbors more to jabber about,” he muttered as he left the room, donning a cloak and boots, before leaving to take care of Galest. Estel followed him out and took his pack off Galest, giving the horse a loving pat before he quickly made his way back into the house. The man talked softly to the horse and then, looking back over his shoulder first, took two sugar cubes from his pocket. “Here now, beautiful lady, you look tired, how about a treat?” He smiled as Galest eagerly licked all evidence of sugar from his palm then nosed him, nickering softly. “We’ll jes’ keep that as our little secret, hear?” Galest bobbed her head as if she understood and the man chuckled. He led her slowly to the barn, wiped her down, and got her some feed. As he left and closed the door, he heard the ponies and Galest neighing softly to each other.

Estel hurriedly changed into his dry clothes and hung the wet ones next to Frodo’s by the fire. He sat beside Frodo, watching the slow rise and fall of the hobbit’s chest. He glanced over his shoulder, reassuring himself that they were alone, and opened the blankets. He turned Frodo to his side and probed gently between his legs. His fingers came away bloody…bright red blood. At present, there wasn’t a large quantity and for that he was grateful. He knew he could not chance riding to Bree tonight with Frodo in his current condition. He hoped that the bleeding would remain light then make for the tiny town at first light. If Frodo’s bleeding intensified, all would be lost. There would be no chance to save him so far from Bree and Bluebell’s healing touch. His own skills were limited in comparison to the other healer’s. He rewrapped Frodo in the quilts and was relieved to see that the tremors that had shaken the hobbit’s small frame had diminished. The head injury concerned him more now than anything else did. He felt along the back of Frodo’s head until he touched the wound. There was a slight depression and he frowned as his fingers explored it. A serious concussion then, he thought, and his stomach lurched at the prognosis. Concussions could be fatal if not dealt with as soon as possible, he had seen it many times. Frodo may never awaken and that realization filled him with despair. His eyes filled with tears. “You cannot leave me, little one. I would be lost without you,” he whispered. He tapped Frodo’s face lightly, trying to elicit any response. The hobbit’s brow furrowed slightly and Estel smiled in relief.

The owner of the home entered the shack, stomping his feet to remove the snow from his boots, then approached the pair. “How does he fair?” he asked quietly.

“He is badly injured. I must get him to the healer in Bree in all due haste,” Estel said, his voice catching.

The man placed a comforting hand on Estel’s shoulder. “There now, hobbits are sturdy folk. Why I do believe if one fell off a cliff, he would bounce.”

Estel grinned. “True enough. This hobbit has seen many trials but has shown his mettle each time,” Estel said proudly.

“As to making for Bree, ‘twill have to wait till tomorrow. I’m going to make some tea and heat up that soup I promised earlier.”

“That would be most welcome. I thank you again, Mr…..”

“Scoggins. Bas Scoggins”, the man replied and stuck out a hand. Estel took the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

“You have shown your quality, sir, helping us as you have.”

“Nonsense. You startled me at first, is all. But truth be told, I seldom get visitors and if you’re up to it, would dearly welcome conversation.

“I would be honored,” Estel said genuinely. The man waved him off and went to the kitchen. Estel returned his attentions to Frodo. He placed a pillow under Frodo’s head, and then poured a little water into a bowl the man had brought earlier. He added two athelas leaves before carefully unwrapping the hobbit package. He left Frodo’s body partially covered at all times. The heady aroma of the athelas filled the small room as he slowly sponged the bruises and scrapes. He gently washed the blood from Frodo’s head wound and inspected the injury further. Slowly he made his way down Frodo’s body, lastly examining the bleeding between Frodo’s legs. He washed this area carefully. Then he took each of the small hands in his, washing the torn fingertips gently before wrapping them in layers of gauze. He wound more gauze around Frodo’s head after making sure that the hair was dry, and then he bundled Frodo back up in the comforters. After looking over his shoulder to be sure they were alone, he bent and tenderly kissed Frodo’s lips. The lips had lost the blue tinge and were warm and soft beneath his own. “Stay with me, my love. We have already been through so much together and I feel there are many adventures that yet await us in our life together,” he whispered tenderly. Frodo’s eyes cracked open and he gazed up at the man. Estel smiled broadly. “There you are. Oh Frodo, I love you so much, so much,” he crooned. The blue eyes closed as quickly as they had opened, making Estel wonder if he had witnessed it at all. Frodo’s breathing deepened as he slipped deeper into unconsciousness. Estel pulled him into his lap and stared into the flickering fire as he planned out the next day. They would leave at first light. They would need to go slow so as not to jostle Frodo and possibly arrive in Bree in the late afternoon. Once in Bree, Bluebell would know what to do to help the hobbit, Estel felt confident of this. His duties were trivial by comparison to Frodo’s needs. He would have to divide his patrol area between the remaining rangers. All his thoughts, feelings and being were now focused solely on Frodo and his recovery. He gazed down into the beautiful face and was amazed at how encompassing his love for this hobbit was and how quickly Frodo had taken complete control of Estel’s life. He could not imagine his life without the hobbit and hoped he wouldn’t have to find out anytime soon.

TBC


	25. A New Friend

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

Synopsis: Estel carries an injured Frodo to a small home where he struggles to keep him alive.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 25

Frodo could not understand how it was possible to be in such pain if one was dead. A throbbing pain pulsed through his head in concert with the beating of his heart. He was warm, but it was the only pleasant sensation he was experiencing. Every part of his body cried out in exquisite agony. He had not thought it possible to be in such misery. He slowly cracked his eyes open, a flickering fire lay before him and he reveled in the warmth as it permeated his body. He tried not to move, to twitch, or even breathe knowing that any change in position would be tortuous. _Where am I?_ he thought. _So cold, I fell, didn’t I?_ He tried to organize his thoughts but the images seemed to float away before he had a chance to grasp onto them, and the act of concentrating was causing his head to spin. _Estel. He had seen Estel. Hadn’t he? And now…where was he now?_ He could hear low murmurs behind him and he strained to hear what was being said.

“So, my Ranger friend, however did you meet this young hobbit?” Bas asked Strider carefully. They had finished their meal and were now sitting comfortably in front of the fire. Both men had taken out their pipes and were conversing quietly.

“He was attacked some months ago, by two men. He was badly beaten and near death, when one of my men came upon him. The Ranger brought him back to our camp since I have some skill as a healer. It was not a pretty site.” Estel frowned into his tea as he thought back to those days and the mortally wounded hobbit. “We did not think he would survive.”

Bas frowned. “It has always stunned and amazed me the capacity for evil and cruelty that some men possess. I have never understood why some enjoy tormenting those that are smaller than themselves simply for sport.”

“That speaks well for you, my friend. I sense that you have compassion and accept that all creatures are worthy of kindness.”

Bas waved him off with a gruff grunt. “I do not know how *kind* I am, but I would never purposely hurt someone smaller and weaker than myself. But I have interrupted your tale…please continue.”

Estel was not about to disclose all that had been done to Frodo even though this man had shown his quality by taking them in and offering them the use of his home. “We nursed him back to health and then returned him to the Shire.”

“Hmm…I feel there is more to this story than you are telling but we’ll let that pass.” Bas smiled. Estel gave him a small smile then resumed studying the fire. “Your feelings, I can see, run deep for this halfling, perhaps more so than just friendship?” Bas ventured.

Estel gave him a warning glare. “That seems an odd thing to ask, Bas. Why would you think this?”

“I’ve been watching the way you tend to him, how you look at him when you think I am not watching. It matters little to me. Far be it for me to sit in judgment of another or their affections.”

“We are merely friends. I took care of him and my men and I became quite protective of him. It would have been hard not to be moved to pity when we saw what had…” he hesitated…”how he had been beaten”, he finished.

“Hmm…yes, well, he isn’t your typical hobbit though is he? Fairer than most of his kind, from what I have seen. I dare say I can see what those brutes saw in him. Why, he appears more like an Elf than a hobbit, except for his feet, of course.”

Estel was becoming more and more uncomfortable dwelling on Frodo as the topic of conversation. “I hadn’t really noticed”, he lied ineffectively.

Bas almost choked on his pipe and turned it into a loud guffaw. “Oh, indeed!” He laughed for several minutes. Estel blushed and looked away. “So where will you take him, if I might ask?”

Thankful for the slight turn in topic, Estel replied, “There is a hobbit healer in Bree that has more skill than I in these matters. I hope to leave him there tomorrow.”

“Ahh… leave him you say?”

Estel swiveled his gaze towards the man. “Yes. I have a more pressing obligation. My men and I guard the Shire and there have been reports of unsavory men crossing the borders. I will be rejoining them to fulfill my duties. Why are you so interested in my coming and goings, if I may ask?” Estel asked, his voice becoming low and dangerous.

Bas held up his hands to show he was no threat. “There, there …I meant no offense, my Ranger friend. I am simply a nosy old man. I only go to Bree twice a year or so, and I seldom see or speak to anyone. Any news or happenings are of interest to me.” Bas looked slightly alarmed at Estel’s expression. Estel sensed no ill will intended towards Frodo or himself and relaxed a bit. “It just seems odd to me that you would just drop your hobbit friend off in Bree with strangers and leave without knowing the outcome of his injuries.”

“Yes, he is a friend, but I do not have the luxury of time to dally about in Bree. The healer will care for him and I will be on my way.” He did not intend to tell Bas of his true feelings for Frodo. What he and Frodo shared was between them alone. “Tell me more about yourself. Why do you live alone so far out of Bree?” Estel asked, trying to turn the conversation in another direction.

“Oh, I wasn’t always alone.” Bas mused. The man’s demeanor changed, grief filling his eyes. “I was once married….long ago. She died.”

“I apologize. I did not know of your loss or mean to intrude,” Estel said sadly.

“No, no…it is alright. It was long ago.” He smiled at Estel. “Strange that the pain of her passing still feels so fresh,” he murmured. “Oh, she was lovely. I lived in Bree at the time and she sold her preserves at one of the little booths on the square each day. I lost count of how many bottles of preserves I ate before I finally got up the courage to ask her to join me for a walk.” He winked at Estel. Estel grinned widely at him. “Oh she was a fine cook, like most hobbits are.”

Estel nearly choked on his tea. “She was a hobbit?” He asked incredulously.

“Aye, and the sweetest lass I’ve ever known”, Bas said dreamily. “We wanted children, but it wasn’t to be. Still, we were very happy, enjoyed life to the fullest we did, until she was taken from me. She got the wet lung fever, and despite my constant care, it took her from me too soon. I try to remember, when I’m feeling especially bitter, that at least we had a few good years together”. He looked pointedly at Estel. “Never let declarations of love and devotion go unsaid, for you never know what the next day may bring.”

Estel swallowed thickly and looked down. “A good rule to live by,” he murmured. A small whimper diverted their attentions and Estel was instantly at Frodo’s side. “Are you in pain, little one?” He whispered, brushing Frodo’s hair back from his forehead. He was startled and unnerved to see two dark blue, tear filled eyes, staring up at him. A slow tear trailed down Frodo’s face and into his leaf shaped ear. Frodo whispered something that the Ranger couldn’t hear and Estel leaned down over the hobbit. “What was that, Frodo?” he asked.

Frodo whispered again, “I am in more pain than you will ever know, Estel”, he said. “I heard what you said.”

Estel gasped and pulled back looking deeply into the pain filled eyes. “Frodo…” he began. However, Frodo closed his eyes with a sob and turned away from him. Bas moved closer to the two and knelt down next to them. Estel could only stare down at the hobbit, knowing that of all of Frodo’s hurts, he had dealt the most devastating blow. He swallowed thickly and shakily poured some hot water into a mug and retrieved some Valarian root from his medicine pouch. “This will help you with the pain,” he said softly.

“Poor little thing”, Bas murmured. “Let me get you some blankets so that you both might get some rest.” The man rose stiffly and left them alone.

“Frodo, I could not tell this man of my true feelings for you. I did not want to parade our lives in front of a stranger... it is ours alone, surely you can understand that?” Frodo did not respond but Estel knew he had heard, seeing Frodo’s chest shaking with suppressed sobs. “My feelings for you have only grown stronger in your absence, my love. I did not mean what I said. I have thought of nothing but you since we were parted.” Estel’s voice cracked.

Frodo slowly turned and looked sadly up at him. “It is no matter, Captain, I will not survive my injuries. The pains have started,” he whispered.

Estel gasped. “Do not say such things! You must live. I cannot continue without you, Frodo. You are my heart and I love you,” Estel urged.

“Just friends. Someone you pitied. You will leave me in Bree with a stranger and return to your duties.” Frodo turned and looked up at Estel sadly. “I will not stop you. You should have let me die when first we met; I have been prepared for that eventuality since that time. You do not need to continue your charade, Estel, I will not trouble you further,” Frodo whispered, slowly closing his eyes.

“Do not do this, Frodo. You know how I feel towards you. Do you trust me so little?” He cut off what else he would have said as Bas re-entered the room.

“Here we go,” Bas said, spreading the blankets next to Frodo on the floor. “Time for me to be to bed, these old bones get tired faster than they used to and I know you wish an early start. Do wake me, though, before you depart.” He looked at Estel carefully. “Are you well, my friend? You look upset.”

“I am merely concerned for my fr…companion,” Estel said purposely correcting himself.

“Ah…as you should be,” Bas said cryptically. “Till tomorrow, then”, he glanced sadly at Frodo. “Be well, little one,” he said looking down into confused blue eyes. “If you need aught else please come and get me.” Then he was gone and they were alone.

“Frodo …”Estel began. “Drink this. It will help lesson the pain.” He slowly lifted Frodo’s head and brought the cup to his mouth, but the hobbit turned away. “Please Frodo, trust me. I would not lie to you. I love you. We are bound together as one, you and I.,” he whispered fervently. Frodo looked up at Estel. He *wanted* to believe those words, but doubt still filled him. He slowly drank the tea, his eyes never leaving Estel’s face. He memorized every feature, unsure of what the future held for their union. Estel smiled down at him. “Thank you,” he said softly. Frodo’s eyes slowly closed, his face becoming slack after only a few swallows. “Sleep, my love, I will try to redeem myself on the morrow,” Estel whispered with feeling. He lifted the blankets and examined Frodo again. The bleeding continued much the same as before and he silently prayed he would be able to get Frodo to Bree before the flow increased. He curled protectively around the smaller body after refilling the water bottles and tucking the blankets in. He finally allowed himself to drift off after placing one arm lovingly across Frodo’s body. Estel awoke sometime later, to the sound of gagging. Years of being in the wild had trained him to be a light sleeper and he was instantly awake. He quickly rolled Frodo onto his side and grasping a pan from the hearth, placed it under Frodo’s chin as the hobbit heaved. He supported Frodo’s head as he retched until all that issued from the small mouth was drool, then he gently lowered the hobbit back down onto the blankets. He wiped Frodo’s face, the indigo eyes studying him as Estel murmured softly to him. He brought a cup to Frodo’s mouth, so he could rinse and spit out the sour aftertaste of vomit, afterwards the hobbit’s eyes slipped closed of their own volition and Estel re-tucked the blankets around him. Frodo drifted back to sleep.

The morning dawned crisp and clear. Frodo slowly opened his eyes to a brilliantly bright day that stabbed at his throbbing head. He groaned and tried to roll away from the glare. He felt a presence close by and slowly reopened his eyes. Instinctively, he pulled back seeing the owner of the home within his field of vision.

“Good mornin’ to ya, little feller,” the man said cheerfully. “No need to be a feared o’ me, I ain’t no ruffian,” he chuckled. Slowly he raised Frodo’s head and brought a mug of cool water to his lips. Frodo drank thirstily, his eyes studying the man’s smiling face warily. “There now, how are you feeling today?”

“Hurts,” Frodo murmured.

“I imagine it does indeed. Where does it hurt, little one?”

“Everywhere.”

The man burst into laughter, startling Frodo and hurting his head at the sudden loud noise. He smiled wanly at the man. “I apologize for makin’ ya jump, but I imagine you’d be hard put *not* to find a place that hurt.” As if in silent agreement, Frodo winced as his back picked that moment to spasm in pain. “Would you like some’at ta eat?” Bas asked softly. Frodo paled as he attempted to quell the nausea rising in his throat.

“No thank you, sir,” he whispered. His eyes darted around the room not seeing Estel anywhere. He gulped. “Did my friend leave?” he asked shakily.

Bas frowned. “No little one, he is preparing his horse to take you to Bree. I do believe it would take the crumbling of Middle Earth itself to separate him from your side. He is quite devoted to you, hardly eatin’ or sleepin’ only wanting to make sure you were comfortable,” he said softly.

Frodo’s eyes changed, reflecting doubt. “He is a healer. That is how they are, nothing more.” He said flatly.

The man huffed a single chuckle. “Not this one. He has not left your side except just now. Do not be too quick to discount his feelings for you.”

Frodo looked quickly back at the man and blushed. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean, kind sir.”

The man smiled. “Undoubtedly,” he said sarcastically. “Forgive me, my manners are atrocious. My name is Bas Scoggins, and this palatial mansion is my home,” He said gesturing widely and grinning. Frodo smiled.

“Frodo Baggins at your service and your family’s,” he said, using the standard Shire greeting.

They heard stomping and both turned as the door opened. “He’s awake?” Estel gasped, his face broke into a wide smile as he moved quickly to Frodo’s side.

“Indeed. This bright eyed chap and I have just been getting to know each other a bit”, Bas smiled.

Frodo just stared sadly at Estel. “How are you feeling, little one?” Estel asked, running an icy hand down Frodo’s cheek.

Frodo jerked at the touch looking up at Estel with concern. “You are nearly frozen, Estel. Move closer to the fire”, he whispered. Estel smiled, glad to see that Frodo still cared about his welfare.

Bas rose slowly, his knees creaking. “I’m off to fix breakfast, young hobbit, and if you don’t at least sample my cookin’ I’ll be rightly offended,” he said with a wink. He left the room and soon they could hear pots and pans clanging about in the kitchen.

“Frodo, are you in pain?” Estel asked gently, feeling the bump on Frodo’s head.

“I am all right. My back keeps spasming, though.” Estel frowned and slowly unwrapped the hobbit. Frodo’s pale, creamy skin was a mottled black and blue watercolor of bruises.

He hissed to himself. “I will wash these bruises with athelas before we leave,” he murmured. He felt Frodo’s abdomen and the hobbit turned crimson, looking away. The muscles contracted and Frodo gasped and moaned. Estel’s face paled as he reached between Frodo’s legs. Frodo jumped and tried to pull away. “Easy Frodo,” Estel murmured. “I know of your condition. It is nothing to be ashamed of, this was not your fault, dear one. I only wish it was mine.” He wanted to take it back as soon as he had said it, seeing the hurt on Frodo’s face.

“I do too.” Frodo said in a small voice. Estel’s hand came away bloody…more blood by far than before, and the Ranger felt his heart skip a beat as panic filled him. He schooled his features and wiped his hands on a towel. He took the dry clothing from the rack by the fireplace and carefully dressed Frodo.

“We will be leaving shortly. I would like you to have some broth and then some of the tea before we depart, Frodo.”

Frodo stared up at him. “I am not hungry,” he said flatly.

The Ranger looked hard at him. “Be that as it may, you will need your strength ere the day is through and I must insist you at least *try* to humor me.”

Frodo huffed a mirthless chuckle. “As you wish, Captain”, he said and closed his eyes. Estel studied him for a moment, hurt by Frodo’s words. Impulsively, he bent down and tenderly captured the soft mouth with his own. Frodo sucked in a surprised gasp but did not pull away. Estel slowly broke the kiss and pulled back until his eyes locked with Frodos. Frodo looked confused, wondering if Estel truly loved him or was only trying to give him hope enough to recover. Estel’s eyes were damp as he gently pushed a lock of hair back from Frodo’s forehead.

“I will be back in a moment,” Estel whispered huskily before he rose and went to the kitchen to retrieve tea and something light for his patient to eat. He returned shortly with two mugs, Bas following closely behind him with plates of steaming eggs, sausages, and potatoes. The smell was overwhelming and Frodo felt his gorge rise. Estel saw in a glance, that Frodo was in distress and quickly placed the mugs on the hearth, grabbed the pan and rolled Frodo onto his side. It seemed Frodo vomited forever when finally he gasped and moaned, his head dropping in exhaustion.

“Bas, could you take the plates away for now? He is still quite nauseous.”

“Of course, I’m sorry little feller,” the man tsked as he returned to the kitchen with the food.

“Here Frodo, rinse and spit,” Estel said quietly. After he was done, Estel propped Frodo up against his broad chest and took up the first mug.

“Noooo…” Frodo whimpered. “Please, I can’t.”

“Just try a little, Frodo. You need something in your stomach, dear one,” Estel whispered. Warm tears fell onto Estel’s hand as he positioned the hobbit. “Oh, Frodo, I am so sorry my love, but try just a little for me, please?” He murmured into the pointed ear. Using a small spoon, he tenderly placed it in the tiny mouth.

Frodo swallowed slowly. Milk toast, heavily sweetened. “Tastes good,” Frodo whispered.

Estel smiled. “Good. Just a few more bites, then some tea, all right?” He spooned the creamy mixture slowly into Frodo’s mouth, until the hobbit turned away, eating half of what was in the cup. Estel switched to the tea next.

“Bitter.” Frodo said, grimacing.

“Yes, I know, but it will help you sleep while we journey. As smooth as Galest’s gait is, it will still be hard going and painful for you.” Frodo forced himself to drink three or four sips before turning away. Estel hoped it would be enough to sooth the hobbit’s hurts and stay comfortably in Frodo’s stomach. Frodo’s eyes closed and his steady breathing told Estel that he slept. He lowered him onto the pillow and sighed.

Bas peeked around the corner. “Is it safe to bring these out?” he asked quietly, motioning to the plates.

“Yes, he sleeps,” Estel said. After making themselves comfortable in the chairs, the two men began to eat. Estel ate quickly, feelings of panic warring within him as he wondered if he could make it to Bree before Frodo worsened. He finished and brought out his pipe and weed and lit it, all the while watching Frodo sleep.

“He will be all right, Ranger. You will see,” Bas said encouragingly.

“I hope so.” Estel turned to look at the man. “I thank you for all you have done for us and wish to repay you in some way. Would you take money for the food, supplies and for all your trouble?”

Bas waved his hand. “No trouble and I do not need your money. All I ask is that you return and tell me how it all turns out.”

Estel nodded. “I promise,” he said. He blew out the last puff of smoke, picking up his bag and taking it out to fasten onto the saddle. He returned and gently picked up Frodo placing the hobbit’s head on his shoulder.

“Take the blankets. You can return them later,” Bas said as he held the door for the Ranger.

Estel turned, “I thank you, you have been most kind, sir.” He mounted Galest and giving a last wave to Bas, rode out to the main road and on towards Bree. Bas watched them until they were lost from sight then went back inside his small home, a feeling of satisfaction that he might have made a difference after all. He prayed he was right.

TBC


	26. A Desperate Race

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

Synopsis: Frodo and Estel arrive in Bree and the healer, Bluebell, begins her care of the injured hobbit.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 26

She sensed the need of her Master and his small companion. Galest broke into a trot. It was difficult, due to the condition of the road, but she was determined to do whatever she could to please her owner. She had come from the land of Rivendell and her heritage was now brought to the fore as she drew upon the stamina and energy that lay in the bloodline of her forbearers. She had much love for the small companion. Oft times he had fed her apples or other morsels on the sly and she sensed his great need for haste. Estel stopped frequently along the road to Bree to check on Frodo. He was alarmed as he noted the increased bleeding and tried to force Frodo to drink as many liquids as possible. For his part, Frodo resisted, only wanting to sleep and somehow escape the increasing pain that consumed his frame. Frodo’s withdrawn demeanor concerned Estel. It was as if the hobbit had sunk into melancholia and had decided that his death was imminent and did not wish to rouse. Estel sighed, knowing that it would take time and much reassurance to convince Frodo of his continued love and devotion.

Frodo felt he deserved whatever came to be, that his condition was penance and the natural culmination of what should have taken place those many months ago. He accepted his death, even welcomed it, knowing that Estel no longer loved him and realized that if he were to birth a human child it would lead to his demise anyway. They reached Bree by nightfall. Estel was exhausted but thankful to finally arrive at the stables. Foam dripped from Galest’s mouth and a sheen of sweat covered her withers. Clutching Frodo to his chest, Estel easily dismounted as the stable hobbit ran out to greet him.

“I need my horse walked, curried, and wiped down. She has covered many leagues at a rapid pace and I want to make sure she is *properly* cared for,” Estel said, giving the hobbit a stern look.

The stable hobbit gulped, “Aye, Mister--I know me job, I’ll take the best care o’ her, I promise,” he replied looking nervously at the Ranger.

“Very well. Here is an extra gold piece for your trouble. See that I am not … disappointed,” Estel growled.

The hobbit’s eyes widened. “Aye, I will, and thank ye for the extra bit.” He took the reins and as he spoke softly to her, began to walk the exhausted Galest around the paddock.

Estel shifted his unconscious burden and made haste to Bluebell’s darkened healers cottage. He banged loudly on the door for some minutes. Finally, he saw a light coming through the house towards him and heard light footsteps approaching the door.

“Stop your blasted banging, I’m coming,” he heard from within. The door was yanked open and Bluebell, looking somewhat irritated, raised a lantern to see who would be calling at that late of an hour. When she saw who it was her expression changed immediately to one of concern and contrition. “Estel, I had about given up on you.” She noticed in a glance, his burden and rushed him into her examining room. “Lay him there”, she ordered, indicating a small bed in the center of the room. Estel laid the blanket wrapped package tenderly onto the bed as Bluebell lit candles around the room and coaxed the fire into a bright blaze. As she turned a gasp escaped her lips, “How did this happen?” she exclaimed, rushing to Frodo’s side. Estel had parted the blankets to reveal Frodo’s battered and bruised body. Bluebell’s hands ran swiftly over Frodo’s arms then flew to his torso.

“He slipped and fell from a small bridge into the river. He was crushed against the rocks and carried into a small pool where he was held under the water. I finally found him. He was not breathing”, Estel’s voice shook with emotion and his eyes filled with tears. “I nearly lost him, but I breathed for him and he came back to me”, he finished, gulping.

Bluebell looked into the Ranger’s gray eyes in pity before returning her attentions to the broken hobbit. “Help me roll him onto his side,” she whispered. “Gently now.” Frodo groaned loudly, but showed no other signs of waking. His back was a kaleidoscope of blues, blacks and purples and Bluebell hissed in sympathy. She moved her hands gently down his spine as she looked for bulges or broken bones, finding none they carefully rolled him back over onto his back. Next, she examined his head carefully palpating the head injury. “Has he been conscious?” she asked.

“Yes, and lucid. Hobbits are amazingly resilient I have found.”

Bluebell smiled. “Yes, I have witnessed this time and time again. Thank the powers that be for that.” Her hands dropped to her side as she stood peering down at Frodo. She tenderly moved a tendril of hair back from his forehead. “He is beautiful,” she murmured to herself.

“Inside as well as out,” Estel whispered as he ran a finger down the side of Frodo’s face.

Coming back to herself she looked up at Estel. “I won’t lie to you, Estel, his injuries are most grave. I do not know if I can deliver the results you are hoping for.”

Estel’s head shot up. “Is there still not some hope? You will at least *try* to heal him, won’t you Bluebell?” he asked desperately.

“Of course, Estel, but with the head injury he will not be able to deliver this child on his own. He will need stores of energy he no longer possesses; the act of pushing would be too much of a strain on his back and other injuries.”

The Ranger’s eyes reflected the sheer terror of one who is desperate to save his world and is helpless to do so. “How will you proceed?” He said, looking more frantic than before. ‘ _What will I do if I lose him?_ ’ his mind whispered. He steeled himself against such thoughts and drew on strengths from deep within himself. ‘ _We will fight this. We will prevail._ ’

Bluebell swallowed and turned towards the fire. “There is a way, although his chances for survival are slight.”

“Even a small chance is better than none at all,” Estel said grimly.

“It is more serious than you think, Estel. Were Frodo in peak health he would still not survive a natural birth.” Estel looked confused.

She looked back at him. “I believe that the organ that feeds the child is blocking the birthing canal and that is why he is bleeding. Of course, I need to examine him before being sure of this. If that is the case, he would not be able to deliver the child without bleeding to death.”

“You said there was another way. You were speaking of cutting into him, weren’t you?” Estel subconsciously pulled Frodo to him as if to shield him from harm.

“Yes Estel that is the only chance he has.” Her face had paled as she mentally prepared herself for what she was contemplating doing. She frowned and looked pensively down at the unconscious hobbit. Frodo’s eyebrows were drawn down in pain. “I will do a thorough examination first to determine the best way to proceed.” She looked down at her clothing. “But first I need to change into something more suitable.” She quit the room leaving Estel alone with Frodo to ponder what was to come.

He took Frodo’s hand in his and lightly caressed the back of it with his thumb. With his other hand he gently finger combed the unruly curls back from his forehead. “Frodo, I love you more than life itself, please be strong. Stay with me and I will make your life a joy,” Estel whispered as tears trailed down his face.

Frodo’s eyes flickered open. “Estel … why are you crying?” he whispered. “I know you no longer feel the same as I but I need to tell you…I love you. I will always love you”, slowly his eyes slipped closed again.

Estel grinned widely. He felt hope fill him as he gazed down at his lover. Bluebell re-entered the room pulling her hair back and tying it in a long ponytail as she walked. She wore a plain dress and a dark apron hung from her neck. She hastily tied the apron then took a kerchief and covered the rest of her head until all that showed was her face. She went to Estel and pulled his long hair back into a short ponytail, securing it at the nape of his neck. She handed him a kerchief to cover his head. He looked questioningly at her.

“I have found that the less I touch a patient or an injury during a surgery or birth, the better off my patient will be. Humor me,” she added with a smile. Estel would have done anything to ensure that Frodo recovered quickly and did not hesitate to comply.

“How many times have you done the surgery, Bluebell?”

“Four”, she said flatly.

“And were all successful?” his eyes begged for her to tell him that all had gone well.

“All came through thru the surgery. Two died due to infection. Since that time I have taken greater precautions to keep the wounds clean and have limited physical contact with the injury. Since then I have had no deaths or infections. I do not know why this is so, only that it is, so I continue to limit any contact and thoroughly wash the patient, myself, my instruments and any toweling I use. Estel nodded. He too had seen the results of soldiers wounded in battle when conditions were not thoroughly clean before their injuries were treated. Limbs would be amputated and invariably, the victim died due to infection. “First we will examine him,” she said. “Help me move him to the end of the bed.” She attached two leather footholds to the corners of the bed while Estel carefully maneuvered Frodo into position at the edge of the bed. He then slowly raised each hairy foot and placed them into the stirrups. “You have seen these used before.” It was not a question, more a statement of fact.

“Yes, I have assisted in births of human babies and the foot holds, while not pleasant for the woman, seem to make the examination much easier,” Estel murmured, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s body.

Bluebell moved to Frodo’s head and gently tapped the side of his face. “Frodo? You must wake up, little one”, she whispered. After many attempts, Frodo’s eyes slowly cracked open. He looked confusedly up into Bluebell’s face. “I am a healer, Frodo. My name is Bluebell and we’re going to deliver your baby today.”

“Not *my* baby,” Frodo said firmly. “You may keep it if you wish.”

Bluebell smiled down at him. “We shall see. How are you feeling?”

“Sore … everywhere. My back hurts, feels like a troll is sitting on it.”

“It is from your injuries and the labor that has started,” she whispered. “How were you injured, Frodo?”

“I fell from a bridge,” he responded slowly. ‘ _Good, he remembers_ ,’ Bluebell thought with relief. It was a good sign. She held up her hand in front of his eyes.

“How many fingers do you see, Frodo?”

“Four, now three,” he replied his eyes drifting closed.

“Frodo, open your eyes for me.” Frodo opened his eyes slowly. “Good. We need to examine you now to see how you are doing.” Frodo nodded, caring little about what was done to him.

“Estel. Has he gone?” he asked in a quavering voice.

Bluebell looked confused. “No Frodo, he is right here. I doubt I could force him to leave your side.”

Estel moved into Frodo’s line of sight. “I am here, my love, and I am not going anywhere,” he said with a smile as he smoothed Frodo’s hair back. Frodo realized that Estel had said ‘my love’ in front of a total stranger and gave Estel a warm smile. While Estel stayed by Frodo’s head, Bluebell moved to the other end of the bed, lit a lantern and directed the beam towards Frodo’s bared bottom.

“I am going to touch you now, Frodo”, she said and began sponging the blood away from his genitals and bottom.

“Wait…what?” Frodo stammered, turning a bright shade of purple as he tried to move away. “Madame…”he began.

“Frodo, I have seen almost every hobbit in these parts, even male hobbits who have found themselves in a similar situation such as your own.” Frodo’s eyes widened. “I understand your discomfort, but you must relax and let me proceed.” Never once did she stop her examination as she spoke. She removed a large metal object from a nearby tray and Frodo’s eyes grew huge.

“What is that? You…you aren’t putting that *in* me, are you?” He tried to wiggle away causing him to gasp as stabs of pain assaulted his back and abdomen.

She placed her hand on his knee. “I have to see inside of you, Frodo. While this is uncomfortable, it will not hurt you. I have warmed it so it won’t be a shock to you as it’s inserted.”

“Inserted? Nononononono…I do not need an exam. I feel fine, really,” Frodo said, panicking. He squirmed even more desperately to get away from the contraption and the healer.

Estel held Frodo down and whispered soothingly. “Bluebell is very skilled and surely you would not doubt her abilities as a skilled healer?” Estel smiled as he saw immediate contrition on Frodo’s face. ‘ _Ahh…manners of the gentry win out again_ ’ Estel thought to himself.

“Oh no, I meant no offense Miss, I just…well, I am sure you know what you are doing but …I well…” his sentence drifted off. He gulped and slid down to the edge of the bed and placing his feet back into the stirrups. His legs trembled and he jumped when Bluebell touched his leg.

“It is very common to be frightened the first time you have to be examined. I will tell you everything I am going to do so that you will know what to expect, and I promise to be very careful. Here, let’s cover your lap area to give you a little privacy, how does that sound?” Bluebell spoke softly and despite himself, Frodo found himself relaxing. She covered his exposed lower half and then took her seat at the end of the table.

“Try to relax, Frodo, it will be much easier that way”, Estel whispered, trying to calm the hobbit.

Frodo looked incredulously up at Estel. “Easier? I sincerely doubt that!” he barked, then slumped back onto the mattress, closing his eyes.

Estel smiled as did Bluebell. “Alright, you will feel some pressure, Frodo.”

 _That is an understatement_ Frodo thought, when he felt the intrusion of the instrument as it was inserted slowly into him. He flinched and cried out, grabbing Estel’s hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Breathe Frodo, slowly let the muscles relax, it will make it easier,” Estel murmured.

“Perhaps you’d like to trade places Estel, and see just how relaxed you would be,” Frodo said hotly, his eyes still closed.

Estel could not help but grin while Bluebell let loose a most unladylike snort. “All right, the speculum is in. Now there will be a little discomfort as I open it,” she said as she opened the speculum fully.

“A little discomfort? Dear Madame, you are gifted in the language of understatement,” Frodo panted.

It was then very quiet as Bluebell gazed into Frodo’s birth canal. She could see a bloody blockage at the far end of the canal and knew her worst fears had been verified. “Come Estel, look,” she said softly.

Frodo muttered, “No, don’t look Estel. Nothing to see here I assure you.” Estel peered into Frodo’s opening in awe.

"Unbelieveable…a birth canal on a male." The opening lay immediately beneath Frodo’s gentals, which had been secured, out of the way with a towel. He looked at Bluebell in astonishment. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Bluebell,” he exclaimed. “It is truly amazing.”

“While most male hobbits would be grateful and proud to hear such a statement about their bits, I assure you I am not one of them. Kindly stop ogling my privates and get me out of this contraption,” Frodo said quietly.

Estel moved back to the head of the bed. “There, there Frodo, Bluebell is almost done”, he reassured.

“Not almost, you *are* done, I’d say. I insist, Mistress Bluebell, that you release me from these instruments of torture.”

“Very well, Frodo. I’ve seen what I needed to see.” Frodo harrumphed. The speculum was removed, making a loud slurping noise as it was withdrawn, then Frodo’s feet were removed from the stirrups. Estel lifted Frodo to the head of the bed. Frodo closed his eyes as Estel covered him in warmed blankets.

“Are you all right, Frodo?” asked Estel, worriedly, noting a sheen of sweat on Frodo’s face and how the hobbit grimaced in pain.

“My head…it hurts horribly.”

“We have some tea that will help with that Frodo,” Bluebell said from somewhere to Frodo’s left. A cup was placed against his lips as his head was slowly raised. The tea was bitter but Frodo was desperate for relief of the pain and gulped it down. “Rest little one,” Bluebell whispered. Frodo was already dozing as they left the room.

“Well? What do you think, Bluebell?” asked Estel.

“We will need to do the surgery, Estel. It is gratifying to see that Frodo is obviously well enough to not only be properly embarrassed, but to so artfully exchange barbs,” she said as she washed her hands. “The head injury could have been much worse. The organ that feeds the child is blocking the birth canal. There is no hope for Frodo to deliver this child, not that I would have leaned that way anyway. We will need to cut and take the babe from him.” Estel looked terrified. “I would be honored if you would assist me, if you feel you are able.”

“Thank you. Yes, I would be honored to assist.”

“Then we will proceed at first light.” Bluebell left for the kitchen to make them some tea. Estel’s hands shook as he worried over what was to come. He ground his teeth together. We will succeed and Frodo will recover, he said to himself yet his stomach twisted nervously as if to argue the point.

TBC


	27. Nightmares and Dreamscapes

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

Synopsis: Bluebell and Estel perform the surgery to save Frodo’s life.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 27

The strong smell of lye soap permeated the air as Bluebell’s red hands scrubbed the floor surrounding Frodo’s bed. Estel was preparing some stew in the small kitchen. He liked to cook, although he was far from a chef. Soft baked rolls sat cooling on the sideboard. He stirred the soup slowly, lost in thought, the simple action calming him as he thought of the impending birth. The clouds on the horizon shown with the barest hint of the coming sunrise; _‘I should have fixed breakfast instead,_ ’ he thought to himself. But Bluebell had instructed him to make soup. ‘ _It is hardy and will sustain us for the work to come,_ ’ she had said.

She walked slowly into the kitchen, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. “It smells good,” she said with a smile.

“Not all Rangers are helpless in the kitchen, madam,” Estel quipped.

“I wonder why you are so lean then,” she giggled.

Estel smiled at her. “How is Frodo?”

“His contractions have increased in intensity but, for now, he rests. Let us eat, we should get started as soon as possible.” She looked worriedly in the direction of Frodo’s room. She sat down at the table and Estel brought her a bowl of the stew and placed the rolls in the center of the table. Before he sat down, he retrieved a tea pot with mugs along with jam and butter from the sideboard. They ate slowly as Bluebell began talking about how they needed to prepare for the procedure. “I have gowns that we will don over our clothing. We will pull our hair back and tuck it beneath kerchiefs. I need to sterilize all of my instruments and some cloths to use for soaking up the…” she stopped and looked quickly over at Estel.

He smiled wanly. “The blood, yes I know it will be bloody, Bluebell. I am prepared.”

“Are you prepared for what *might* be, Estel? You need to be ready for both possible outcomes,” she reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

His eyes held a look of panic as he looked up at her. “How can anyone prepare for that, Bluebell? I do not know what I will do if I should lose him.” She withdrew her hand, her brow creased in worry, and they finished their meal in silence.

After the dishes had been cleared away, Bluebell gathered her instruments and several yards of sun-bleached muslin. She placed both the instruments and cloth in pots of boiling water and let them sit while she busied herself with Frodo. She dabbed at his face with a cool cloth as he moved his head back and forth on the pillow, whimpering.

“There, there Frodo, you are doing well, little one,” she murmured.

Frodo’s eyes cracked open and he looked up at her. “So thirsty,” he whispered.

She retrieved a small cup of cool water and allowed him a few sips. “I am afraid I can’t let you have more than a sip, Frodo.”

“Did Estel leave?” He looked around the room not seeing the Ranger.

“No indeed, Frodo. He is cleaning up in the kitchen,” she said with a smile. Frodo sighed in relief.

“Frodo there is something we need to talk about,” Bluebell whispered. Frodo studied her face, she looked worried and he felt his stomach flip. “Estel and I are going to take the baby. You are in no condition to deliver the child. We will give you something to make you sleep then surgically remove the child,” she said softly. “When you wake up, Estel will be here to see you.”

“You mean if I wake up,” Frodo said flatly. “I know how much risk is involved. I have the usual large extended hobbit family and have heard the whispers of the successes and failures of such an operation.”

Bluebell smiled. “I have performed this surgery with relatively good success, Frodo. Trust me, I will do my best to ensure you return to us healthy and happy.”

He smiled wanly. “I don’t know you but I already trust you with my life. I know you will do your very best. I only ask that I get to say goodbye to Estel in case the circumstances are not in our favor.”

“Of course, but I would ask you to be optimistic, Frodo.”

“I do not want the child, lady. Do with it as you wish. I am sure there are families that yearn for children in Bree. Perhaps one of those could give the babe a good life.” Frodo said this without emotion.

“Let us worry about that later, what do you say?”

“As you wish, Miss Bluebell,” he said in resignation.

Estel entered the room drying his hands on a towel as he walked to Frodo’s bedside. “How is our patient?” he said with a wide grin.

Bluebell watched Frodo’s face light up as if the Sun had come out after many stormy days. His eyes sparkled as he smiled up at the man. “He is fine, Ranger,” Frodo smiled. “Except for the unrelenting, squeezing pains in my stomach and ache in my back,” he gasped as a particularly hard contraction gripped him. He moaned loudly and twisted his body, trying to escape the pain. Estel held his hand until the contraction passed, his brow knotted in worry. Frodo smiled up at him. “Do not worry, Estel. It will be all right. I have the best healer in Bree, after all,” he laughed. Bluebell smiled at him, a rosy blush flushing her cheeks. With a quick pat to Frodo’s knee she left the room leaving the two lovers alone. Estel bent over Frodo’s face, taking in the so blue eyes and rosy lips. What would he do if those eyes were closed to him forever? Frodo reached up and lightly touched Estel’s cheek. “I could not bear it if you were forever left alone to wander,” Frodo whispered.

“Then you will have to heal quickly, my love, as I am not a patient man,” Estel weakly jested.

“If things go ill, promise me you will find another,” Frodo said slowly.

Estel’s face clouded. “Do not say such things. We will have many long and joyous years together. You sound as if you are giving up, Frodo. You are in good hands with Bluebell and I have some skill as well. I’ll not stand here and listen to you speak so hopelessly.”

“But…”

“I cannot make this promise, Frodo. Once one has tasted perfection there is naught else that can take its place,” Estel captured the soft lips, filling the kiss with all his desperate need for Frodo to survive.

Bluebell entered the room carrying her tray of instruments and a small tightly capped bottle. “Are we ready to begin?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” Frodo answered.

“I love you, Frodo. Please come back to me,” Estel whispered.

“I love you as well my scruffy Ranger and shall make every effort to do so.” Frodo swallowed nervously.

Bluebell took Estel aside. “Many years ago I travelled to the banks of the Bruinen with a dear friend. She was granted leave to enter Rivendell and returned with not only much knowledge in the healing arts, but potions and tonics as well. I was quite young but I wanted to learn all I could so that someday I would be the best hobbit healer possible. This bottle contains a powerful anesthetic that we will use to place Frodo in a deep sleep. It can be lethal if too much is given so listen carefully to how we will administer it.” Estel nodded. “You will be my anesthetist. Hold this small perforated cup over Frodo’s nose and mouth. It will have muslin cloth in it to capture the liquid. Slowly, drip by drip, you will drop the liquid onto it.” It is quite powerful and all care must be made for you and I not to breath in the fumes.” She popped the glass cork off and Estel drew back.

“Spirits of ether! This is quite powerful, Bluebell,” he exclaimed.

Bluebell looked at him in surprise, her mouth hanging open. “You know of this?”

“You forget that I was raised by Elrond HalfElven, Bluebell. Yes, I have seen it in use. It is quite powerful and is only used when other methods have been exhausted.”

She smiled. “I *did* forget. It is good that you know of it and you must think me an awful know-it-all going on like this about something you are well acquainted with. Have you ever administered it?”

Estel laughed. “I don’t think any less of you, Bluebell. A refresher is always welcome.” He frowned at the small glass bottle. “I have administered it only once. The surgery went well though the patient was quite nauseous afterwards.”

“An unfortunate side effect, which is why I have given Frodo no food and only small sips of water. Before we start, I would like to listen to the child’s heartbeat.” They moved back to Frodo’s bedside and saw that he was in the midst of a powerful contraction. He mewled pitifully, his breaths coming in short pants.

Estel wiped the sweat from Frodo’s face and smiled down at him. “You are doing very well, Frodo. Bluebell is going to listen to the heartbeat of the child and then we will start.”

“Listen? But how?” Frodo asked in confusion.

“With this, my friend.” Bluebell held in her hand a long glass tube with fluted end pieces. One end was placed to the ear while the other rested on the mother’s stomach. “I warmed it for you,” she said with a smile. Frodo smiled slowly as he watched her position it on his stomach. She pressed her ear to the other and turned her head sideways, facing away from Frodo. She had suspected there might be problems with the child after Frodo’s fall into the river, and did not want the hobbit to see her face if the child had not survived. She moved the tube around his abdomen, her face becoming increasingly serious. She looked up at Estel with a frown, giving him a minute shake of her head. “Frodo, let me get you another sip of water, how would that be?” she covered. After Frodo had a swallow of water, she took Estel aside. “I hear nothing,” she whispered.

“How is that possible?” Estel asked, worriedly looking back at Frodo.

“I do not know, but I believe the child has perished. We must remove the babe in all due haste.” They quickly washed their hands after tying kerchiefs around their nose and mouths to ward off the ether’s fumes and cracking the window to help ventilate the room.

“It is time to go to sleep, Frodo,” Estel whispered, his voice cracking. The Ranger placed the cup over Frodo’s nose and mouth as the blue eyes peered deeply into Estel’s. Slowly, Estel began to drop the ether onto the muslin drip by drip. Bluebell watched for a time then, satisfied that the ether was being given at the correct rate, took some tongs from the cloth, picked up a swatch of gauze with them and began painting Frodo’s abdomen with tincture of iodine. Frodo’s eyes had long since closed as he breathed in a slow regular rhythm.

“We begin then,” Bluebell said as she selected a blade from the cloth.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In a large room, on a tufted chair, Frodo sat. He looked down and saw that he had a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits resting on one knee. A young hobbit lass was reciting a poem as all in the room listened attentively. Frodo looked around. There were some ten people—big and small, sitting in a circle surrounding the girl. To his right sat Estel, who smiled lovingly at him and gave him a wink. To his left was Bluebell. She wore a pink dress with white lace at the collar and cuffs. Her long hair was drawn up on her head into a pile of curls. Frodo looked across the circle and saw a rather large woman wearing a ridiculous hat. It had feathers sticking out from all angles and a large bow in the center. The woman was staring straight at Frodo, a look of loathing on her face. He smiled and nodded to her but she did not acknowledge the gesture. He looked nervously away. The woman made him uneasy for some reason.

A little girl played at the woman’s feet. She looked up at Frodo with a large smile, sparkling blue eyes and curly brown curls covering her head. She rose and hurried over to Frodo, climbing quickly up onto his lap. In his surprise, he almost forgot to rescue the plate of biscuits before she gave him a huge kiss, making a loud smacking sound, on his cheek. He beamed at her, it would have been impossible not to, so infectious was her smile.

“Well hello there, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

“Hello Unckie Frodo,” she answered brightly. Across from him the large woman scowled at Frodo, her face apoplectic. The young lass had finished her reading too much applause and took her seat with a blush. Slowly the room filled with quiet conversation and laughter, except for the woman. Frodo could not take his eyes away from her and felt his arm coil protectively around the little girl on his lap.

The woman rose abruptly and stomped over to Frodo. She bent over the little girl. “Come,” she said abruptly, her voice deep and harsh.

“No mama, I want Unckie Frodo,” the girl whined and buried her face in Frodo’s shoulder.

“Come at once you silly thing,” the woman barked. The little girl began to cry quietly and let go of Frodo, slipping from his lap. The woman sneered at him. “This one’s mine, I’ll just be taking her with me now.” Frodo pulled back in surprise not only by the rudeness and obvious hatred the woman had for him, but also because she bore an uncanny resemblance to someone he knew, but he couldn’t remember who. The woman gave him an evil smile. “Little rat,” she spat at him. Frodo gasped as his stomach filled with dread. He looked around for Estel, but found he was now alone in the room except for the woman and toddler. The woman leered at him as Frodo looked up at her, he closed his eyes, suddenly sure he was going to vomit. It was Wulf, dressed in the frumpy dress and bizarre feathered hat. He would have laughed if not for the gravity of the situation. The little girl cried out to him as she was yanked away and dragged down a narrow hallway and out a door.

Frodo’s stomach now was burning quite painfully as he wrapped his arms around himself. His hands shook violently as he pulled them away from his stomach seeing that they were covered in bright red blood. His simple cotton shirt blossomed red as Frodo pressed his hands against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. He frantically looked about the room, but there was no one about.

“Estel! He yelled but the Ranger was nowhere to be found. “ESTEL!” He was alone.

TBC


	28. Tears of Sorrow, Tears of Joy

**This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU. I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.**

Synopsis: Frodo comes through his surgery and learns a few things about the child he has carried.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 28

“Estel!” shouted Bluebell. Estel jerked his head around to look at Bluebell. “Frodo is waking! Give him more of the ether,” she exclaimed.

Estel looked down at Frodo’s face. His eyes were still closed, but now there was a furrow of pain across the pale forehead where none had been earlier. He quickened the speed of the drops onto the mask until the furrow smoothed and he could tell that Frodo was unaware and free of pain.

Estel looked back at Bluebell, she smiled and nodded then returned to the task at hand. One of her hands, covered in what seemed to the Ranger, to be too much blood, disappeared into Frodo’s belly. She looked up at the ceiling as she groped within, finally exclaiming “There you are!” and withdrawing a larger than expected fetus. She held it in her hands for a moment, and then slowly placed it in a low bowl. Her hand and forearm disappeared once again into Frodo’s abdomen and after a few moments of groping within, she withdrew the placenta from the womb. She studied it momentarily, a frown on her face, before placing it in the basin with the child.

Estel could tell at a glance, that the child had perished. The babe was a dark dusky blue and there was no healthy wail typical of a newborn child. He looked away, his eyes suddenly misty, returning his concentration on the task given him. Bluebell swabbed inside the cavity with gauze, looking carefully for unacceptable bleeding. Taking a pitcher of cool water she sluiced the opening, then sponged it out with yards of sterile muslin. The fabric came away bloody but no more so than she expected. She reached up and with one hand, gently massaged the area below Frodo’s ribs above the womb, as she continued to watch the womb. Nodding to herself, she felt satisfied that the bleeding was of an acceptable amount. She gave the cavity one last washing and after blotting, she liberally sprinkled powdered yarrow within. She took a prepared needle and thread and began to carefully suture the womb back together. After a neat row of small, precise stitches were in place she wiped the incision to check for any leaking. Seeing only nominal bleeding, she turned her attentions to the suturing of the abdomen. Here she was especially careful, selecting a smaller gauge needle and finer thread, she made small stitches so that the resulting scar would be minor and not blemish the perfect skin. Once done, she washed Frodo free of any remaining blood, covered him in a warm blanket, then turned and smiled at Estel. “Done,” she said simply.

Estel had ceased administering the ether after Bluebell’s last stitch and now he held his fingers at Frodo’s wrist, monitoring the hobbit’s life pulse.

After washing her hands thoroughly, Bluebell moved to the bowl containing the fetus and placenta. She frowned as she looked back and forth between the fetus and the placenta. She picked up the organ and measured the length then looked for any obvious abnormalities. She turned to her scale and weighed the organ, frowning. She then retrieved the fetus and repeated her actions.

She peered at the tiny child in her hand, “You never really had a chance, little one,” she murmured. Gently, she washed away the old blood and looked carefully at the slightly larger feet which had a smattering of soft downy hair covering them. She smiled, “Look Estel,” she said motioning him over.

Estel smiled sadly, before tenderly stroked one of the tiny pointed ears. There were a few wispy curls on the child’s head, which he touched lightly.

“She would have had many of Frodo’s physical attributes.”

“She?” He had not checked the sex of the child, gazing instead at the perfect face and small body.

“Yes, a girl child,” Bluebell whispered.

“What was the cause of the miscarriage, Bluebell?” Estel asked, sighing.

She grimaced. “Usually we never know, but I have my suspicions. You said Frodo was around 5 months gone?” Estel nodded. “Look at the size of the placenta and then look at the size of the child.”

Estel looked between the two and frowned. “The placenta is much smaller than I deem it should be for a babe of this size,” he whispered.

“It is. The child is close to the size of a full term hobbit baby—much too large to be sustained by such a small organ.”

Estel darted a glance at her, “What are saying, Bluebell?”

She sighed, “I do not know if it is because his attacker was so much larger than he is or if Frodo simply did not get the prenatal care he needed but I believe this babe has been deceased at least four days. See how where the placenta is connected to the child has shriveled? The organ looks as if it ceased to provide nourishment for the child, causing the fetus to starve. Simply put the child was too large for the hobbit sized placenta, Estel.”

Estel held the babe in his open palm and examined it carefully. He could see the child was longer than a hobbit babe should have been at 5 months, perhaps getting that quality from Wulf. There was no visible body fat to be had on the child, her ribs pronounced. How very sad, he thought.

Bluebell studied him discreetly, as she removed her surgical gown. “Even though this has happened once I see no reason that it would occur again should Frodo become pregnant once more.” She looked away as she said it, taking a blanket that had been warming by the fire, she removed Frodo’s cooled blanket and replaced it with the new one. She hazarded a glance at Estel and then turned away, hiding her grin.The shocked look on Estel’s face had almost been her undoing. Bluebell filled a basin with warm water and after washing her hands and removing her kerchief she bent over Frodo and gently began soaping, rinsing and drying his arms, legs and torso. Lastly, she washed his face.

“Frodo,” she called, gently tapping the side of his face. “Wake up, my friend,” she whispered. Frodo’s eyes fluttered open and Bluebell smiled down at him. “There you are. I was afraid you were going to sleep the day away.”

Frodo licked his lips. “May I have some water, lady?” He whispered.

“Of course,” she smiled down at him. She brought a cup of cool water to Frodo’s lips and he drank thirstily. “Easy Frodo, not too much at once, we don’t want you to be sick. How do you feel?” She asked as she placed the cup on the side table.

Frodo winced as he tried to raise his head. “My stomach hurts---a lot,” he groaned.

“And it will for some time, I’m afraid. We took the baby and you are now stitched up like a winter quilt.”

“Oh,” he gasped. He looked around the room for Estel who had placed the child back into the basin with the placenta and covered the bowl with a towel. “Estel?”

“I am here, Frodo,” answered the Ranger. He finished washing his hands, removed the kerchief and crossed to Frodo’s side. He smiled widely. “I am so happy to see you again, my love.” He kissed Frodo’s forehead then captured the warm lips with his own. When he pulled back Frodo had tears in his eyes. “Are you well, my love?”

“I am just so happy that our last kiss was *not* our last,” he breathed.

Estel smiled again, running the back of his hand down the side of Frodo’s face. “I will never let you go, hobbit, so long as I draw breath,” Estel smiled.

“I do not wish to ever be *let go*, Ranger.” Frodo beamed back at him wondering how he could have ever doubted Estel’s love. He glanced around the room again. Estel watched him, knowing what, or who, he looked for. Although Frodo had said he wanted nothing to do with the baby, Estel worried how the child’s death would affect him.

Bluebell sat down next to the bed taking Frodo’s hand in hers, gently massaging it as she spoke. “Frodo, the child did not survive. She was too large for the placenta, the organ that feeds the baby while it is in the womb.” She studied Frodo’s face for his reaction.

He frowned then slowly closed his eyes. He understood the dream now. Feelings of relief and guilt flooded through him. The remorse won out. “It was a girl?” he asked quietly.

“Yes Frodo, and she has fuzz on her feet and small pointed ears, like you,” Estel whispered.

“Would you like to see her, Frodo?” asked Bluebell.

Frodo looked up at Estel, his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know…” he hesitated.

“Her skin is not the color of a newborn infant, Frodo, but other than that she is perfect,” Bluebell whispered. She had washed the baby, removed the placenta and tied the umbilical cord off creating a tiny belly button. She had tried to make the child as presentable as possible, wrapping her in a flannel cloth as a makeshift bunting.

Frodo nodded once and took hold of Estel’s hand. Estel squeezed his hand, kissing the back of it. Bluebell retrieved the babe from the basin to the bed and gently laid her in Frodo’s arms. Frodo had been expecting to see his attacker in the child’s face, but all he saw was a sweet, innocent face that would never feel the touch of the Sun. Tears rolled down Frodo’s cheeks as he touched the child’s face, looked at her fingers and toes and the downy hair that covered the latter. He smiled through the grief, looking up into Estel’s worried face. “She’s a hobbit. I had expected…”

“She had no more choice than you did Frodo, as to who her father was. She is an innocent, just as you are, my love.”

“I see that now. Oh, the horrid feelings I have had about this child.”

“You could hardly be blamed for that, Frodo, considering what happened to you that culminated in her coming to be. She was a constant reminder of what had happened to you,” Estel caressed the back of Frodo’s hand.

Frodo smiled one last time at the child and handed her back to the healer. She took the child and placed her back into the basin. “What will happen to her now?” Frodo asked.

“She will need to be buried, Frodo. I think you should choose where you would like that to be. In the interim I have a cold room I use for just this purpose.” Bluebell said. Frodo nodded. __

_‘He’s exhausted,_ ’ she thought. “First you must rest, Frodo, you’ve had a busy day. Estel if you could hold him for a few moments, I would like to change his bedding before he sleeps,” she said.

“It would be an honor. Come, you rascally Baggins,” he said with a grin, before tenderly lifting Frodo from the bed. Frodo gasped as his abdomen objected to the movement. “I am sorry, Frodo,” Estel whispered, as he sat down on a low sofa holding Frodo on his lap. He looked down into the face of his love, noting the perspiration that had beaded on the pale face. “Frodo are you all right? Estel asked worriedly.Bluebell heard the question and rushed over, grabbing a basin on her way.

“I…I think…oh, Estel…” Then Frodo turned to the right, away from Estel. The Ranger realized what was happening and tried to turn Frodo gently so he could vomit into the proffered basin. Bluebell brushed the hair back from Frodo’s forehead as she whispered reassurances into his ear. Frodo gasped as each convulsion sent stabs of pain through his newly sutured torso. Finally, when all that came up was drool, Frodo sagged in Estel’s arms. Bluebell washed his face and gave him a sip of water to rinse his mouth with. Then Frodo was being tucked into soft comforters and plump pillows, more were tucked around him, under his knees and under his forearms.

“Frodo here is something to help with the pain.” Bluebell slipped a small dab of poppy paste under his tongue. “When you wake, you will feel better and can have something to eat.” Frodo groaned at the mention of food. She grinned down at him. “It was the anesthetic that made you ill. By the time you wake, it should have worn off and your appetite returned,” she reassured. Frodo tried to concentrate on what Bluebell was saying but his thoughts were fuzzy and his eyes refused to stay open. Finally, he could fight it no longer and slipped into slumber.

Estel leaned over placing a kiss on Frodo’s forehead. “How is he Bluebell?” She gave him a confused look. Estel smiled and rephrased the question. “Is he out of any danger? Is there anything you are concerned about where you might need me to be present?”

Bluebell smiled and nodded. “He is well enough, for now. The bleeding is normal for having just had the surgery and a birth at that. So far he is free of infection; I would say…he is doing remarkably well for what he has just been through.”

Estel nodded. “How long will he sleep?”

“Anywhere from two hours or more, I would say, why?”

“There is something I need to attend to. I should return shortly,” he said with a smile.

“Oooo, a mystery,” she replied with a grin. “It is for Frodo, I assume?”

Estel grinned widely, “Yes, and if I am successful, it will be something he will never forget.” With that he grabbed his cloak from the hook and dashed out the door.

Bluebell smiled, slowly turning back to her patient. “You are a lucky hobbit, my friend. That man plainly adores you and I can’t wait to see what he has in store for you.”

TBC


	29. A Secret Shared

This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.

I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.

Synopsis: Aragorn rejoins his men on a mysterious mission.

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Chapter 30

A Secret Shared

Estel walked across the muddy road towards the Prancing Pony. He was helpless to keep a huge silly grin off his face. Those who knew him as the aloof stern Ranger, stopped and turned, mouths open, as he passed each one with a large smile, nod of his head or quick hello. ‘Surely this must be another of his kind’, they thought, as he almost skipped down the boardwalk.

He simply couldn’t help himself. Never had he felt so truly happy. He had a beautiful hobbit to call his mate and soon, if his men were at the Pony, he would have something to make Frodo’s and his match complete. He smiled widely thinking of Frodo’s surprised face as he stepped into the Prancing Pony. He looked into the common room searching for his men. Tulkas sat at the table in the corner in quiet conversation with Rendon, Tilion, Halbarad, Oden and Daerion. They looked up at his approach and greeted him warmly. They couldn’t help gaping at their Captain who’s face seemed almost lit from within with happiness.

Tulkas winked at Halbarad and with as much control as he could muster, squelched the grin from his face. “Captain? Your patrol was obviously much more pleasurable than ours by the look on your face. Estel blushed and smiled even wider, if possible.

The others at the table, save for Halbarad, looked at their Captain in concern. “Are you unwell, Captain?” asked Tilion. This caused Estel, Tulkas and Halbarad to roar with laughter. Tilion blushed and looked down as Tulkas slapped him on the back.

“Have pity on the lad,” he roared. “He’s never seen Estel smile, afterall.” More loud laugher filled their corner of the room.

“I am fine, Tilion, and I am most touched that you were concerned for my welfare,” Estel said looking into Tilion’s eyes earnestly. Estel heard a mutter from Rendon that sounded suspiciously like ‘touched to be sure’. “Am I really so grim?” he asked the group.

“Why yes, Estel, you are,” smiled Halbarad.

“Well, no more. I am the happiest Ranger in all of Middle Earth at this moment.”

“Estel, you must tell us what has brought about this miraculous change,” Tulkas grinned.

Estel gave him a withering look. “First, I would like to discuss the patrols and what each of you have to report, then we will move on to more pleasant converse.” He looked about the room and seeing Butterbur, waved him over. Butterbur hurried to the table, a scowl on his face.

“What is it Strider?” he asked.

“Butterbur, how are you tonight, old friend?” The mens laughter roared around the table, causing Butterbur to jump. His eyes were wide as he stared at the Ranger’s huge smile in wonder.

“Why, Strider, I’ve never seen you smile. I didn’t even know you had teeth!”

Estel frowned. “Am I truly so somber?”

Everyone spoke at the same time. “Yes,” then new gales of laughter commenced.

“ENOUGH!” Estel shouted. They all stopped laughing, but still grinned at the man. “Butterbur, we need to use your private room for a while, would that be alright with you?”

Butterbur stared at Strider, an incredulous look on his face. Firstly, Strider had never *asked* to use anything. Strider would simply commandeer the room, with a scowl, slamming the door in Butterbur’s face. Secondly, Strider had almost said ‘please’ and there was still that grin which was so out of character as to make the barkeep nervous.

Strider waved a hand in front of the inn owner’s face and Butterbur blinked. “Oh…er…of course, of course. Would you be wantin’ somthin’ to eat?”

“Yes, bring us some lunch and fresh mugs of ale when you have time,” Estel said cheerily.

Butterbur turned to fetch the meal murmuring to himself as he went to the kitchen “when I have time? This cannot be Strider. Must be a brother. Makes no sense…”

The men settled comfortably in the private room, closing the door to ensure privacy. They pulled out chairs around the table as Estel became the serious Captain they knew and would have died to defend.

“What news have you?” Estel asked, pulling out his pipe. He filled and lit the pipe from a taper on the table then sat back, feet stretched out before him, as each man detailed what they had seen or heard about the borders of the Shire.

“’Tis peaceful. I am thinking that our increased efforts to stop the scum from crossing the border has finally started to deter the riff raff,” Tulkas murmured.

“Perhaps, my friend, but I would not relax my guard. It would be wise to maintain our vigil, perhaps in less numbers, but still be a visible presence on the border.” Estel said.

“I agree. The northern border is sparsely patrolled, perhaps we could add a man there,” Rendon said as he drew a map on the table with his finger and pointed at the top.

Estel nodded in agreement. “Tilion?”

Tilion jumped guiltily and Estel could not help but grin.  
“Captain?”

“Tell me of your patrol,” Estel said with a smile.

“My patrol was the southwest border. I found only one group of men, but they were merely hunters and were not interested in entering the Shire. They welcomed me to their fire and we talked long into the night. I told them I was a Ranger patrolling the border for ruffians…”

“And were you wearing your Star?” Estel asked quietly, gazing through the haze of smoke at the younger man’s face.

Tilion’s head shot up. “Uh..no, Captain. I..uh..did not know that I was allowed to wear it,” he said quietly.

Tulkas muttered something and rolled his eyes. The other men studied the table or their drinks. This discussion had been a long time coming they all knew.

The quiet of the room was broken when Estel’s tipped chair came forward suddenly as he stood. “Rise Tilion,” he said solemnly.

Tilion rose slowly, a nervous look on his face.

“Your Father’s Star, please,” Estel said his eyes becoming moist and his voice cracking.

Tilion reached slowly into his pocket withdrawing the treasured piece of jewelry. He handed it to the Captain and looked into the man’s eyes.

“I have been remiss in not doing this sooner, Tilion, and I beg your forgiveness. It was selfish of me, since whenever I thought of pinning the Star on your cloak, memories of your Father would wash over me. But no more. He would wish it and you have more than proven your worth to this company.” Murmurs of ‘aye’ were heard about the table.  
Tilion straightened to his full height and Estel took the Star pinning it to a fold of the cloak, the same as each man wore, at his shoulder. “Tilion, I pin this Star to you and ask that you forever remember what it represents. Blood was spilt, blood will continue to be spilt, as long as we protect and serve the helpless and the good. This Star is a beacon of hope to those in need. Never dishonor it. Do you so swear?”

“I so swear to honor and protect the people to my last breath. I will wear this Star with pride all the rest of my days.” Estel clasped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. They sat down as the men thumped Tilion on the back and congratulated him.

“Gentlemen,” Estel said. The men turned their attention back to the Captain. “Are we finished with our reports?” All nodded. “Then I wish to discuss something that pertains to Frodo.” The men all smiled, remembering the irrepressible hobbit. “There are things you need to know,” Estel began. His face had returned to its normal serious mien and a ripple of concern passed through the group. They leaned forward, giving Estel their full attention.  
Their Captain looked nervous, which was the second time that day that the men showed surprise. Estel never showed fear or apprehension, always being sure of his duty and himself. Yet, as they watched, fear was clearly evident on their Captain’s face. The men became increasingly concerned as they waited for the Ranger to gather his thoughts and tell them what had transpired.

“Estel, is the lad all right?” Tulkas finally spoke, the large man clearly agitated.

“He is better now,” Estel said slowly.

“Estel, start from the beginning and tell us everything that has happened,” Tulkas urged.  
Estel blew out a breath and began the long labyrinthine story of all that had occurred. The men sat, leaning forward, listening intently, mouths open in amazement. Mutters of “Mercy” and “Brave lad” could be heard as Estel continued. Totally enthralled, the men looked up, irritated at Butterbur, when he chose that time to enter with the food and ale. Estel paused waiting until they were once again, left alone.

Butterbur withdrew and Estel began detailing the birth and how the child had been stillborn, all looked down in sorrow, some wiping their eyes surreptitiously. The story finished, Estel sat contemplatively smoking his pipe. It took a few moments before anyone spoke again.

“So he is here with Bluebell, Estel?” Tulkas asked softly.

“Yes, he will be here for a fortnight, recovering.”

Halbarad frowned and looked over at Estel, “I am confused. When you greeted us you were obviously joyous. What was it that made you smile like a teenager, my friend?”

Estel smiled widely. “I have an idea that will make Frodo very happy, but I will need your help.”

The men, once again, leaned forward across the table. “You know that even if Frodo had not already gone through all that you have told us, we would still deny him nothing, Estel,” Halbarad said.

Tulkas nodded wiping at his eyes then, extricating a well-used handkerchief, blew his nose. “Aye Estel, you have but to ask and we’ll see that whatever it is, is done.” Tilion, Oden, Rendon and Daerion nodded eagerly.

“It will be much work, my friends,” Estel said hesitantly.

“It is no matter. I would give my life for Frodo,” Tilion said firmly.  
Estel smiled at him. “Very well, I have something in mind that I think will make him very happy, but the largest part of it needs to be done within a fortnight and in time to retrieve him from Bluebell’s. This is what I have in mind…” Estel withdrew a small piece of parchment that he had scribbled his ideas on. The men all smiled widely, slapping Estel on the back for his stroke of genius.

TBC


	30. Old Friends, Good Friends

Labyrinth Chapter 30

Synopsis: The Rangers visit Frodo while he is recovering at Bluebell’s.

Frodo/Estel

Rating: Mature

Old Friends, Good Friends

This contains material of a graphic, sexual nature and is not to be viewed by those who are under the age of 17 or who find this kind of story offensive. This story is obviously AU.

I have no rights or ownership of these characters; I receive no compensation except my enjoyment of if only temporarily, living in Middle Earth. These lands and the peoples of Middle Earth are the sole property of the Tolkien Estate.

 

“Estel, what a marvelous gift! First, I desire to see Frodo if he’s up to it, that is,” Tulkas said.

“I think Master Baggins would very much enjoy seeing all of you gentlemen,” Estel said with a smile. “Shall we depart?”

The men rose as one and made their way back out to the street while Strider settled the bill with Butterbur. He joined them outside and they crossed the mucky road to the healer’s cottage. Estel tapped lightly on the door which was quickly opened by Bluebell. She grinned and laughed when she saw the men at the door. “Estel you don’t need to knock. But what’s all this riffraff you’re bringing into my home,” she said with a wink.

Halbarad stepped forward looking affronted, “Madam, I’ll have you know that we are all from royal Numenorian stock,” he said with a grin then pulled her into a hug.

She giggled as she joked with each one and received embraces in kind. Finally, she came to Tilion. “Estel, who is this young man?” she said with a small smile. Tilion stared at her, transfixed.

“I thought you had met Tilion. Tilion is Elu’s son,” Estel said softly. “He is one of my best Rangers.”

Tilion’s eyes swiveled to the Captain. Estel smiled at him and Tilion gave him a nod, not really knowing what to make of this changed Captain.

Estel grinned, “Yes, I believe you both are about the same age.”

Bluebell shot him an annoyed look. “Really Estel, to think that such an immature Captain leads this rag tag group is simply unbelievable.” The men all chortled as Estel blushed and laughed.

“If you are finished making an ass of yourself, would you like to visit Master Baggins?” she winked at Estel.

“Yes, if he is awake and desires visitors,” Tulkas said hesitantly.

“Let me check on him first. Estel would you come with me please?” she smiled at the group and went down the hallway to another bedroom.

“You moved him,” Estel said.

“Yes, he has his own private quarters now, where he can recuperate without being disturbed. The other room he was in is my main birthing room and can be quite noisy.

“You didn’t carry him yourself, did you Bluebell? He would be much too heavy and it would pain him greatly…”

She shushed him with a raised hand. “Estel, remember I am a very resourceful woman. Frodo was never even aware that he had been moved.” She smiled at the confused look on the Rangers face.

She slowly opened the door to Frodo’s room and they went in. Frodo was asleep. Had it not been for the dark curls peeking out beneath the bandages wrapped about his head, Estel would not have noticed Frodo as the hobbit was only a shade warmer than the white pillows he lay on. Estel looked at Bluebell in alarm.

She smiled wanly, “He lost a lot of blood, Estel, but he is strong, he will recover with rest. So far, he has had no signs of fever, even though I realize it hasn’t been all that long ago that he was delivered. I am waking him regularly and giving him hearty salted broths, juices, tea and water. He may even be able to stomach soft foods by tomorrow. You are just in time since I need to wake him to be fed.” She left the room and returned shortly with a cup of beef broth with mashed vegetables. “I would like you to ask him if he’s up for visitors before we let your men in.” She turned and looked pointedly at him, “He is not to be overly excited or taxed, Estel. He needs his strength to recover. I will allow two, and no more, visitors at a time to come into the room.”

Estel nodded. He respected Bluebell and her territory. She was renowned throughout the Shire for her fierce protectiveness of her patients as well as her abilities as a healer.  
She lightly tapped Frodo’s cheek. “Wake up, my friend, it is time to eat again.

Frodo moaned then frowned. “Tired Bluebell, not hungry,” he mumbled.

She smiled and winked at Estel. “Oh, that is too bad. I suppose I’ll just have to send Estel away then. I’ll tell him you just aren’t up for visitors yet,” she murmured.

Frodo’s eyes crept open and he smiled up at her. “You wouldn’t dare, dear lady,” he said softly. Then Estel moved into view and Frodo’s eyes lit up. “Estel!” he said enthusiastically. He tried to raise himself up to embrace his Ranger, but found he could barely lift his head.

“You’re not to move, Frodo. We want you to save all of your energy so you can heal and go home,” Bluebell whispered. At the word ‘home’, Frodo’s face fell. Where *would* his home be, he wondered.

Estel sat gently on the side of the bed. “How about some soup Frodo?” he whispered as he pushed a lock of hair out of Frodo’s eyes.

“Not until I get a proper greeting, Ranger.”

“My pleasure, Master Baggins.” Bluebell rose and found something on the sideboard to occupy her allowing Frodo and Estel some privacy. Estel was leaning over Frodo, gazing into the hobbits’ beautiful blue eyes with a look of total and complete worshipfulness. She turned back to the counter as Estel captured the warm lips with his own. Frodo let his eyes slip closed, feeling completely loved and possessed.

“Remember Estel, your men are still waiting outside,” Bluebell said softly.

Estel sighed as he broke the kiss. “I hate to share you with anyone else, Frodo, but there are some worried Rangers waiting outside that door that very much would like to see you,” he whispered.

Frodo looked nervously up at him. “What have you told them?” he asked quietly.

“Everything, my love.”

Frodo slowly closed his eyes, “And they still wish to see me?”

Estel gave Frodo a slow smile. “It is not possible to make them think less of you, Frodo. They would gladly give their lives for you. The love they feel for you, dearest, is deeper than you will ever know.”

Frodo smiled wanly. “I *have* missed them dearly. If you think they would like to see me, I would like that very much.”

Estel smiled widely. “First, I am going to move you up on your pillows, Frodo. I can feed you while you visit, if that is all right?”

“I am truly not hungry, but I know you will persist until I give in, so I suppose I will just have to admit defeat,” he grinned.

Estel looked at him in surprise. “I am shocked. You yield hobbit? Could this be a first of many?”

Frodo scowled. “Do not get your hopes up, Ranger.”

Estel smiled then looked over at Bluebell. “Is there anything I need to know before I move him, Bluebell?”

“No. I know you will be gentle, just move very slowly, Estel, and mind his abdomen. I will assist you with the pillows and then I think get a hot water bottle for his stomach.”  
Estel gently put one hand under Frodo’s head, his arm along the hobbit’s torso and one arm under his lower back. Frodo closed his eyes and tensed as Estel slowly lifted him. Bluebell fluffed additional pillows and placed them under Frodo’s head and back and Estel lowered Frodo onto them so that he was in a reclining posture. Bluebell placed a pillow under Frodo’s knees, “bend your knees, Frodo, it will make it a little more comfortable for you”, she said. Eyes still closed he did as she asked. His face was dewy with perspiration and he took two or three breaths before opening his eyes.

“Are you all right, Frodo?” Estel asked worriedly.

“It just takes a moment for the dizziness to fade, but I am fine now.” He gave Estel a weak smile. “I am ready for my visitors, I think,” he said with a grin. Bluebell left the room to give her instructions to the men. Estel smiled, rose and opened the door slowly. Tulkas and Daerion entered slowly and approached the bed. Frodo felt himself flush, wondering what these men thought of him.

Tulkas looked worriedly at his small friend. “How are you feeling, Frodo?” he asked quietly. Daerion took his hand and held it within his own.

Frodo smiled wanly at them. “I feel weak and sore but surprisingly well. It is so good to see you again. I wondered if we would ever meet again once I left the Ranger stronghold.” Frodo knew he was babbling but even though he knew these men like family, he couldn’t help being nervous considering why he was here in the first place. They filed in in groups of two, each showering him with love and concern, not judgment, as he had expected.

They chatted with him about their patrols, Daekon told him of a particularly funny prank he had pulled on Oden and Frodo began to relax as each squeezed his hand and offered him encouragement and support while they laughed and joked with each other. Tulkas bent over him, placing a tender kiss on Frodo’s forehead then with a blush, the hulking man left the room. Finally, Tilion came in alone and sat beside him on the bed. “I have wondered often how you were doing, my friend,” he said quietly. “It will make my heart lighter to see you on your feet and hear your laughter again.”

Frodo squeezed his hand. ‘’I look forward to that as well, Tilion. Oh and Tilion?”

“Yes Frodo?”

“I like your Star,” Frodo said with a grin.

Tilion smiled, touching the Star lightly and looked up at the Captain. “Thank you, Frodo.” Tilion could tell that Frodo was weary so he rose slowly and looked over at Bluebell before leaving. “You have our thanks for our friend’s life, my lady,” he said with a bow.

Bluebell blushed. “Not at all, Frodo has been the perfect patient and I have enjoyed having him here,” she responded in a whisper.

Tilion stared at her for a long time until Bluebell smiled, blushed and looked down. He turned purple when he realized he had been staring, stammered his goodbyes and quit the room, stumbling over the threshold as he left. Frodo could hear raucous laughter from the other room as the other men teased him about his clumsiness. Frodo and Estel smiled as their eyes slowly turned and settled on Bluebell.

She looked at each and blushed again. “What are you two looking at?” she harrumphed. “Can’t a woman enjoy a little innocent flirting once in a while?” she mumbled, grabbing a pillow and fluffing it roughly until Estel thought it would burst and spread feathers all over them.

“I believe my friend Tilion has developed a crush on our lovely healer,” Frodo whispered, grinning.

“Indeed, I perceive that I will be receiving more requests from my young Ranger for time away from his duties,” Estel said with a huge smile.

Frodo giggled as Bluebell’s blush deepened. Finished pummeling the pillow to a pulp, she flounced from the room with a muttered, “Men and their fanciful notions.”

They both laughed as she left them and Estel sat down beside Frodo on the bed. He took the hobbit’s hand in his and looked deeply into Frodo’s eyes. “Frodo, I have been thinking…I wondered if you would like a ceremony for our hand fasting?” Estel stammered.

Frodo grinned. “I do not need a ceremony, Ranger, to bind myself to you,” he laughed. “If you say we are hand fasted that is all that I require.”

Estel smiled slowly. “We are hand fasted then, Frodo Baggins of the Shire.” As Frodo beamed up at him, Estel bent and gently kissed the soft lips. Estel pulled slowly away and looked down at his love. “Frodo there is one more thing I need to do before you are well enough to leave Bluebell’s care,” he said slowly.

“And what would that be?” Frodo asked tiredly.

“It is an errand that my men and I need to fulfill,” Estel replied vaguely. “I will return in a fortnight and then we will be together again.”

Frodo frowned. “A fortnight and no longer, I hope,” he said.

“It will be within three weeks’ time and no longer, I swear,” Estel said with a smile.

“I am very curious and look forward to hearing more of this mysterious ‘errand’”, Frodo murmured sleepily.

“Until then, my love,” Estel whispered before dropping another kiss to the hobbit’s soft lips. “I love you, Frodo,” he said as he rose.

“And I you, Ranger. Please be safe,” Frodo whispered as his eyes slipped closed and he finally succumbed to sleep.

Estel ran his finger down the soft cheek before exiting the room. He could not remember ever feeling this happy. He left the room, seeing that Bluebell had made tea and small sandwiches for the men. They sat in the waiting room in a semi-circle and spoke softly. Estel had to smile when he saw Tulkas balancing a small plate on one knee while he sipped tea from a very tiny tea cup. He also noticed the long looks passing between the healer and his youngest Ranger.

He cleared his throat and they all looked up at him. “He sleeps. He greatly enjoyed seeing all of you again,” he said. “Bluebell, a word please?”

The healer rose and went to Estel who told her of what they proposed to do while Frodo healed. She smiled broadly, “He will love it, Estel. Take as long as you need, my friend. Frodo is safe here with me,” she said, an impish gleam in her eye.

“Then I will see you in a few weeks’ time. I cannot thank you enough for your skill and caring in tending to Frodo. Things could have been dire without your skills,” Estel said solemnly.

She smiled and blushed again. “There is no need to thank me, Estel, it was an honor and I am gratified that all went as planned. I will see you soon.”

The men rose, setting the empty plates and tea cups aside as they left the cottage, closing the door quietly behind them. They were all smiling as they left Bree, excited to start on the surprise for Frodo. Oden and Kaden left them at the gate to continue their patrols. They would be relieved in a weeks’ time so they could do their part in the charade.

TBC


	31. Reunions

Rating: Mature

Labyrinth Chapter 31

Reunions

Frodo/Estel

Synopsis: Estel and Frodo reunite with Bas and return to Hobbiton

 

As the weeks passed Frodo healed and recovered. He was back to his pre-pregnancy weight and had begun helping Bluebell about the healer’s cottage. If the female patients were a bit nervous about a male being around to help the healer, their fears were soon allayed as they grew to love the soft spoken gentlehobbit that sat by their bedside encouraging them in his soft voice as he wiped their foreheads. Frodo’s back was always turned away from the actual birth to give them as much privacy as possible. He enjoyed being allowed to hold the newborns, wondering if he and Estel would someday be fortunate enough to have one of their own and what it would be or look like.

Still, Frodo was often preoccupied, gazing out the window as he watched for Estel’s return. One day, Frodo had his wish as he watched from the window he saw Estel pull up in front of the cottage with a wagon. He jumped down from the casement and ran through the cottage out of breath with a laughing Bluebell in tow. When the door swung open, Estel immediate grabbed Frodo, bringing him up into the air and pulling him close for a deep kiss. “I have missed you so much, my love,”Estel whispered into the pointed ear.

Frodo’s eyes were damp, “It feels like forever since you left,” Frodo exclaimed. His eyes danced with love and happiness as Estel looked him over. Frodo looked healthy and happy which made Estel even more joyous, if such a thing were possible.

“I will miss my favorite helper and companion,” Bluebell said, her eyes filling with tears. “But it gives me great joy to see you both so happy.” Frodo smiled at her as he reached out and clasped her hand.

“I must pack!” he exclaimed as he wiggled to be let down, and then he was running out to the small cottage behind the healer’s cottage. Estel and Bluebell laughed at the exuberant hobbit.

“He has spoken of nothing but you, Estel. You and your plans for your new life together,”she smiled.

“I have thought of little else. It is time to put our dreams into motion at last,” Estel said with a happy sigh.

Frodo ran through the cottage stopping at the door next to Estel. “I am ready,” he exclaimed, almost bouncing with excitement.

“Already?”

“I only had a few things,” Frodo said with a smile. He turned to Bluebell and she knelt down in front of him. “My lady, it has been a great honor to work and live beside you. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your care and friendship,” Frodo said quietly.

“It is I who is grateful, Frodo. You have been a bright light in the lives of my patients and myself. I hope you will come back soon to visit,” she said, wiping a tear away.

Frodo looked up at Estel and the Ranger gave him a huge smile. “We will be back, I promise. You’ll not be rid of me that easily,” Frodo chortled. She laughed tousling his curls and then watched as Estel lifted him up into the cart. She waved to them as they rode out of sight then closed the door behind them. The cottage would be very quiet without her companion about, she thought.

“Why do you have a cart, Estel?” Frodo asked as they road over the mushy roads.

“We need to retrieve some of your belongings in Hobbiton, Frodo.” Frodo noticed for the first time the bags of flour, sugar and grain along with many other items, in the back of the cart.

“I am so excited that we are finally making our dreams a reality.” He moved closer to Estel on the bench and wound his arm through the Ranger’s. Estel placed a kiss on the curly head.

“It seems like a dream still,” Estel said quietly. They rode on thusly for two days then Estel pulled the cart up to a small home.

“Where are we?” Frodo asked. “Are we in Hobbiton all ready?” He had been dozing in the back of the cart but sat up and rubbed his eyes as the wagon jerked to a stop.

“No, but I wanted to stop and visit with our friend, Bas before we continue to Hobbiton,” Estel said, lifting Frodo out of the wagon and placing him firmly on the ground.

The door swung open and a surprised Bas stood framed in the doorway. “What a wonderful surprise!” The older man exclaimed with a laugh. Frodo ran to him giving the old man a hug. “Why, it does my heart good to see you so well, little one,” Bas said bringing his face down to Frodo’s level. “Come in, come in, I was just preparing tea,” he said to both of them. Surreptitiously he looked at Frodo’s body, knowing that his instincts on their first encounter, had been correct. He had heard of just such a thing from his late wife. He looked at Estel with a nod and smiled. Frodo ran ahead into the home heading for the kitchen. He stopped the Ranger at the doorway with a hand on his arm. “What of the child, Strider?”

Estel looked surprised at first then realized that Bas had easily seen through their secrets. “She did not survive, Bas,” Estel said grimly.

“I am so sorry, my friend. I truly would have loved to meet her if she had been anything like her parents.”

“I was not the father, Bas.”

“Yes, I know. It was those men, wasn’t it; the ones who attacked him?”

“Yes, but I would have welcomed her as my own just the same.”

“I know you would have. How is Frodo? Is he mourning her greatly? He appears healthy.”

“We have been blessed he is very healthy, I am happy to say,” Estel said with a smile. “He felt great sadness when he lost the child but has put it behind him as perhaps something that was fated.” Bas nodded. “Someday we may return with our own little one, one never knows,” Estel grinned.

Bas chuckled. “I would be filled with delight on that day, Strider. I hope you will have another and will remember that I would very much like to meet that little miracle.”

“Are you *still* out here? Whatever are you gabbing about? Tea is ready and Bas, I brought some pumpkin bread that this hobbit lady, Mira, makes in Bree,” Frodo said excitedly.

“Mira, yes I know her. She is very nice. Why I haven’t had her pumpkin bread in ages,” Bas said with a smile. The men chuckled at Frodo’s exuberance as they found places to sit and enjoy their tea together. Bas insisted they stay for the night and later, brought blankets and pillows to make them more comfortable on the floor in front of the fireplace. After a dinner of roast lamb, potatoes and cabbage he turned to them, taking Frodo’s hand in his own. “The last time you were here you slept in that very spot,” he said looking towards the fireplace. “I worried about you for days after you’d left, hoping that you had not perished.” Frodo squeezed his hand in reassurance and smiled up at the man. Bas took Frodo’s face in his hands and said shakily, “I am relieved beyond belief to see you doing so well, dear Frodo.” Frodo beamed up at him then grabbed the man about the waist to give him a light hug. “Well, enough of me being maudlin, I need my beauty sleep. Goodnight,” Bas chuckled and went to his room closing the door.

Both Estel and Frodo were smiling as the man left the room. Their eyes met and they felt almost shy to finally be alone together.  
“Estel, I am so excited about this new life we are making with each other. I feared it was but a wish and a dream and would never come to be,” Frodo said with a sigh.

“I worried as well, but here we are together again, and nothing in all of Middle Earth will ever separate us again as long as I draw breath,” Estel swore, his voice husky. He pulled Frodo to him, capturing the smiling lips with his own and cradling Frodo’s head with his other hand. Slowly he lowered Frodo to the blankets and began removing the hobbit’s braces, shirt and breaches.

“Estel, I don’t know if we should…” Frodo looked nervously towards Bas’s room. “What if Bas hears us or comes out of his room?”

Estel smiled widely, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Firstly, my love, there is nothing in this world that will stop me from tasting and exploring every inch of your beautiful body.” Frodo’s penis gave a pleasant jerk. “Secondly, we will be very quiet and even if we are heard, I do not think Bas will come out of his room to investigate.”

“Oh really, and what makes you think that, Ranger?” Frodo asked bending his neck back as Estel laved his way along Frodo’s jawline and lowered him to the blanket.

“He knows I carry a sword.” Estel smiled again Frodo’s neck.

Frodo giggled. The giggles became moans as Estel slowly moved over Frodo’s nipples and on down his stomach. Frodo was panting by the time Estel reached his organ.  
“Take me. Take me, Estel,” he begged.

“No my love, we are going to go very slowly. This is your first time since the birth and I want to be cautious,” Estel whispered.

Frodo cursed and his fists curled in frustration. “I am fine, please Estel,” he begged. Estel laved the ball sac, which tightened under his ministrations. A drop of pre-cum glistened on the tip of Frodo’s penis. Estel carefully licked the single drop away with the tip of his tongue. Frodo jerked, “You’re killing me, Ranger.” Frodo growled. Estel grinned then slowly took all of Frodo deep into his throat and began to suck. Frodo cried out at the sudden warmth and pushed upwards towards the Ranger. He did not know how long he would last at this pace. Then he felt two fingers slowly breach his rectum.

“Yes, yes there,” Frodo moaned. Then there were three fingers stretching and preparing him all the while Estel suckled. The third finger caressed the small pleasure spot and Frodo gasped. “ESTELLL….” Frodo groaned loudly. He felt Estel smile around his penis, and then the Ranger’s face was above him looking longingly into Frodo’s eyes.

“Are you ready, Frodo?” he asked with a grin.

Frodo rolled his eyes, “More than ready, Ranger and if you don’t take me right this minute I’ll…” whatever he had planned to say was lost as Estel kissed him ravenously. The Ranger’s tongue probed Frodo’s mouth even as Estel pushed Frodo’s legs up and positioned himself at the hobbit’s entrance. As he broke the kiss he gazed at the dewy face. The beautiful eyes were closed and a furrow creased Frodo’s forehead as if he was concentrating very hard on some problem.

Frodo slowly opened his eyes and gazed up at Estel. “Take me, Estel,” he whispered quietly.

Estel smiled down at him as he slowly inched into Frodo’s body, their eyes locked with each other. A flicker of pain crossed Frodo’s face, but only a flicker then it was gone. Once Estel was fully seated Frodo smiled up at him.“Make love to me, Estel,” he whispered and Estel began to move.

Only then did they lose eye contact as passion took them and they were lost to sensation. Estel had started pumping slowly but quickly found he could not sustain that speed. His body jerked forward faster and faster and he placed his hands under Frodo’s bottom, lifting him up. The angle of penetration was perfect for the Ranger and his goal which was to slide over Frodo’s pleasure spot to maximize the hobbit’s enjoyment. Frodo was lost completely to the moment as Estel raked over the pleasure spot each time he thrust. Frodo prayed it would never end, reveling in the jolt of bliss that shot through him each time Estel thrust forward. Then he was climaxing, Estel concentrating on hitting the gland in rapid fire pumping, the gland pulsing as if with a life of its own. Frodo arched his back as he prepared to voice his completion, but then Estel’s mouth covered his own, swallowing the cries and shouts of completion. After the aftershocks had begun to pass, Estel slipped from Frodo’s body. He hovered over Frodo gazing down at the face of his mate.

Frodo opened his eyes slowly and smiled up at Estel. “That was..that was amazing,” Frodo whispered.

Estel smiled. “I think we should always set our sights higher, Master Baggins,” he chuckled. “There is always a way to improve one’s skill.”

“I look forward to these many attempts at improvement of your already masterfully done skill, my Ranger,” Frodo whispered.

“Did I hurt you? Are you all right Frodo? Perhaps I should examine you before we sleep,” Estel said in concern.

Frodo chuckled. “Hurt me?-No, Am I alright? Oh, I am most alright, my love. And no, you do not need to examine me.”

Estel smiled and gently pulled Frodo to his chest, pulling the blanket up over them both. They were asleep in minutes.

 

TBC


	32. A New Beginning

Rating: Mature

Labyrinth Chapter 32

A New Beginning

Frodo/Estel

Synopsis: Estel and Frodo return to the Ranger stronghold and a surprise

 

After a delightful breakfast of biscuits, gravy, bacon, eggs and applesauce dusted with cinnamon the Ranger and his companion made their goodbyes to Bas. Frodo hugged the old man tightly. “We will be through here again, Bas. I hope you won’t mind if we stop by?” Frodo said with a wink.

“I would be terribly offended if you did not, my friends,” he said as he hugged Frodo back. He shook Strider’s hand vigorously and gave him a knowing nod, and then they were in the cart and waving goodbye to their friend.

They made their way slowly towards Hobbiton. There was no great hurry and they stopped frequently for meals and breaks before rejoining the road. At last they crested the hill leading down into the peaceful valley where Hobbiton lay. It was dusk as they approached the back of Bag End. They unhitched the ponies, wiping and currying them before feeding and watering them for the night, then made their way towards the smial. A single light burned in the parlor as Frodo and Estel entered.

Sam rushed out of the kitchen just as the door closed behind them. “Oh, Mr. Frodo!” he exclaimed. “It is so wonderful to see you. And you as well, Strider,” Sam said with a wide grin. Frodo hugged him to him as they both laughed as friends do when they meet again after being apart for a long time. Sam took their cloaks and then stopped, staring at Frodo’s stomach. “What happened, sir? You were all filled out when I saw you last? Not that you don’t look grand indeed.” He smiled at his Master, “You look plum filled with light, you do, sir, happy as can be and you have color in your cheeks again!” Sam exclaimed, but still he looked confusedly at Frodo’s abdomen. It hadn’t been all that long since his Master had left to look for Mr. Strider so what had happened to his Master’s hobbity build.

Frodo locked eyes with Estel and he gave a small smile to Sam. “Sam, I think I need to tell you a few things. Let’s have some of Daisy’s special tea and chat shall we?”

Sam chuckled, thinking of Daisy’s tea, then retrieved three mugs, the tea pot and cozy, and the brandy. They sat in the parlor smoking, waiting for the tea to steep and talking of all that had transpired on Frodo’s journey back to Bree. Sam sat wide eyed, mouth open as Frodo told him about his fall into the river, being rescued by Estel and the rush to Bree and the healer Bluebell Woodbind. There Frodo stopped and poured the tea then adding a generous amount of brandy to each mug.

“Sam, what I am about to tell you will seem impossible to be believe but it is the truth, I swear. Frodo’s hands shook as he held tightly to his mug, trying to organize his thoughts and approach the difficult subject.”

“I know you would never lie to me, Master. But you’ve fairly amazed me already with your adventures. What else could there be, sir?” Sam chuckled, not expecting the explanation he was about to get.

As Frodo told his story from the very beginning up until that moment sitting across from the gardener many emotions and expressions flickered across Sam’s face from horror to amazement. At different points in Frodo’s story Sam looked faint, livid and astounded as he hung on to every word Frodo said. Estel held Frodo’s hand throughout Frodo’s recounting of the events. He pulled the hobbit to his chest as Frodo spoke of Wulf and Gant and Estel, seeing how much his contact comforted the hobbit, held Frodo for the remainder of the telling.

Without even realizing it, Frodo saw they had drank most of a bottle of brandy with their ‘tea’ and he felt spent from detailing all that had gone on the last eight months of his life.  
It was absolutely quiet when Frodo finally finished, Sam was staring down at his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me, sir?” he asked quietly.

Frodo reached out and tilted Sam’s face up. “I wanted to Sam, more than anything, but I worried how you would react. I wasn’t sure of what I was going to do and I felt overwhelmed and confused. Plus, my Sam, you were in fairly bad shape when we last met.” He looked at Sam appraisingly. “You look marvelous, Sam. You’ve got your hobbity body back and there are no dark circles under your eyes.”

Sam smiled. “It weren’t easy, but I knew as how you’d be right upset if’n you found out I neglected myself like last time. So, I tried not to worry and just took care of Bag End.”

Frodo pulled the gardener into a tight hug. “Oh Sam, I am so happy you are all right, and so sorry I didn’t come to you before to alleviate your worry.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, truly. If I place myself in your feet I don’t know as how I’d ever be able to tell anyone what you jes’ told me,” he smiled at Frodo.

Frodo sighed in relief. “It was the least I could do after you worried yourself sick over me leaving. But I must ask you to keep this our secret, Sam. You know how the Shire feels about those attacked by men and well…the rest is too incredible to believe. Everyone would think you’d gone mad saying such things. It is a wonderful relief to get it off my chest, though.” Frodo said with a tired sigh.

“Mr. Frodo, you can always talk to your Sam about anything, sir.”

Frodo smiled wanly at his small gardener, “I will agree to this but only if you will do the same, Sam.”

Sam looked like he would object then thought better of it after seeing the determined look in his Master’s eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Frodo. I’ll try, sir. You both look right tired you do, so mayhap I’ll go on home and let you both turn in.”

“Sam, stay here tonight. It’s too late to go on down the hill.”

“No, Mr. Frodo, now that I know you’re both well, I can sleep a might better and I want to sleep in my own bed tonight sir, if that’s all right by you.”

“Of course it is. I really do understand. We will see you tomorrow then?” Frodo asked as he walked Sam to the door.

“Yes sir, bright and early.”

“Not too early, Sam,” Frodo said with a smile.

Sam smiled back remembering how Frodo like to sleep late. Impulsively he pulled Frodo to him and hugged him. Frodo hugged him back and then Sam looked into Frodo’s eyes. “It is good to have you home, Mister Frodo,” he whispered. Then he was gone, embarrassed by his actions, but not regretful, as he headed down the hill to #3. Frodo watched after him until he heard Sam begin to whistle a happy tune to himself, then Frodo smiled and slowly shut the door.

Frodo went back to the parlor and looked down at Estel sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the settee, eyes closed.“Shall we go to bed, my love?” he whispered. Estel looked up with a smile and reached up for him. Frodo pulled the man to his feet, with much help from Estel, and they walked arm in arm down the hall to Gandalf’s room, closing the door behind them.

They hadn’t told Sam of their plans of a life together that night. Sam had been overwhelmed hearing Frodo’s recounting of his attack and healing and Frodo thought it would be too much, too soon. But the next day, after a large breakfast had been eaten and the three of them sat smoking in the kitchen, Frodo decided it was time. He told Sam that Bag End was now his and that when he was ready, he could move in with a family of his own. Naturally, Sam objected but Frodo wouldn’t hear of it as the papers were signed and all was legally filed with the Mayor himself.

“You can do with it as you wish, Sam, whether you agree or not,” Frodo said quietly.

Sam frowned, “Will you be coming back to visit, Mr. Frodo?” He asked his voice breaking.

Frodo smiled, “Of course Sam, as often as I can.”

Sam smiled, “Well then, seeing as how you’re letting me decide, I want to keep Bag End tidied up for when you visit, sir.” Sam looked proud of himself, and a little smug.

“Sam…”

“You said I could do with it as I liked, Mr. Frodo, and that’s what I want to do, sir.”

Trapped by his own words Frodo smiled and gave Sam a nod. “Frodo and I will be staying a few more days then heading back towards Fornost,” Estel said blowing a perfect smoke ring. “Frodo you need to decide which things you’d like to take with you to your new home.”

Frodo wasn’t sure how much room he would have for his belongings at the Ranger stronghold, but then remembered that the men did not have much in the way of furnishings. He grinned and wriggled up to the man’s face planting a soft kiss on his lover’s lips, “I will see to it, Ranger,” he whispered. Sam smiled at the two so obviously in love then looked away, embarrassed to be watching them kiss. He was so happy for his Master finding someone special that knew what a rare and beautiful person his Master was.

The days passed quickly as the three of them loaded one of the oversized beds, some small tables, an older settee and chairs from Bilbo’s mathom room into the cart. There was also a full pantry worth of food, spices, bowls, cups, plates and anything else a new couple would need to start life together. The evenings were filled with tales from Estel, who Sam found to be almost as good as Mr. Bilbo at storytelling. Estel’s endless supply of stories dealt mostly with the elves and ancient Numenoreans, both of which were Sam’s favorite topics.

Finally, after four days, Sam, Daisy, and the Gaffer stood outside of Bag End looking sadly up at Frodo and Estel. “Don’t be sad, Sam, I’ll be back so often you’ll be sick of me,” Frodo said with a chuckle.

“That’s not possible, Master,” Sam said in astonishment.

“Take care of Bag End and yourself, and I will see you soon, my friends.”

“I’ll miss you somethin’ fierce, Mr. Frodo,” Sam called out to him and Frodo smiled and waved as they drove away.

“That was so hard to do,” Frodo said after they were over the hill and heading towards the North South Road.

Estel smiled. “Sam will be fine, Frodo. His idea to keep Bag End ready for our visits is an excellent one. That way, he doesn’t ever have to feel like you are really gone. He will always feel hope that you could return at any time and pick up your life in the Shire as if you’d never left.”

Frodo frowned, “But that isn’t what’s going to happen, Estel.”

“I know that and I believe even Sam knows that, but this is his way of coping with the loss of his dearest friend and Master. It’s an illusion, but it is a harmless one.”

Frodo looked up at Estel. “I do plan to visit often, Estel.”

“I hope you will, Frodo. I still have my duties to perform and may be gone for long stretches of time. It would make me rest easier at night knowing you are safe and with friends who love you almost as much as I do,” he replied.

“I hadn’t thought of that – you being gone with the others. This could be the perfect solution so that I am not alone. I could go to Bag End or perhaps, Sam could come here,” Frodo murmured to himself.

Estel smiled. “You should rest, we have a long way to go before getting to the cabin. I arranged the back so that, by moving a few small items, you can stretch out on the mattress.”

“Aren’t you clever, Ranger?” Estel grinned at him as Frodo climbed into the back and lay down. He was asleep in moments.

Frodo awoke when the rocking motion of the cart ceased. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and was turning towards the buckboard to ask Estel why they had stopped when he heard laughter. He opened his eyes seeing all about the cart the faces of his beloved Ranger friends looking down at him, including Estel. He smiled widely. “I assume we have arrived, Estel,” he said before launching himself from the wagon into the arms of the surprised Tulkas. Tulkas swung him around before setting him down on the ground, the rest of the Rangers gathered around him to give him hugs, ruffle his hair or pat him on the back.

“You don’t know how wonderful it feels to be back,” Frodo exclaimed.

“It is good to see you full of life and back to your old self, my friend,” Halbarad said. The others murmured in agreement.

“Well, let’s go in then, what do you say?” Frodo laughed. The circle broke and he turned and started forward while the men hung back. He took two paces then stopped. Off to the side, near the river, sat a small cottage. It was of log design like the main cabin but it had lying about it, logs in various stages of development to use inside the building. Saw dust, bark and tools lay everywhere.

Frodo turned around and looked at the men, standing behind him, all wearing excited grins.  
Frodo looked confusedly at them, as Estel knelt in front of him. “What is all this? Why is there another…” Frodo’s question drifted away as realization hit him. He swung back around and looked at the building with new eyes.

Estel pulled him to him as he gazed at the log home, “Welcome home, my love,” the Ranger whispered in his ear.

Frodo turned back around and with wide tear filled eyes looked up at his lover and friends. “For me? For us?” he asked. They all grinned down at him.

“Oh…I…I am overwhelmed. To think that you all did this…” his mouth hung open as he gazed again at the log building. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he said suddenly. “Let’s see what’s inside.” They all laughed at him as he grabbed Estel’s hand and began to tug and pull him towards the cottage. Finally, he broke free, leaving them all behind, and ran to the building. He stopped at the entrance, looking inside with wide eyes. The home was almost finished. There was a large main room with a cobble stone fireplace and off to the left he saw a hallway. He ran inside and down the hallway. “Estel, look at this,” he cried, but before the Ranger had a chance to see what Frodo wanted to show him, the hobbit ran past him and around the corner to the right. Exclaims of “oh this is wonderful” and “Estel look at the kitchen” echoed back to the men.  
Tulkas went back towards the kitchen just as Frodo raced out, colliding with an ‘ooph’ into Tulkas.

Tulkas laughed and helped Frodo up from the floor. “I would love to give you a tour of the kitchen since this was my area to build,” he chuckled.

“Oh yes, please,” Frodo exclaimed, grabbing the huge man’s hand and dragging him back through the doorway. Estel caught up with them and with a smile, joined an excited Frodo at the doorway. The hobbit’s mouth hung open as he ran his hand along the counter.

“I know how hard it is for you to reach the counters, Frodo, so I made them your height. Men can always reach down to use them so they work for both of you, even though we know you’ll be doing most of the cooking,” Frodo turned damp eyes to Tulkas.

“It’s perfect,” he said his voice cracking.

Tulkas smiled. “It makes me very pleased that you like it so much, my friend. Now, over here I built your pantry which has enough room for food to get even a hobbit by for weeks.”

Frodo was listening and exploring at the same time. “Oh and there’s a small fruit cellar down here with shelves for preserved items,” he cried as he ran down the steps. Soon they heard excited cries about all the room and shelves then he was back by their side in an instant.

Tulkas smiled. “You also have easy access to water with the cabin being built so close to the stream. I am still working on the table and chairs but it is mostly finished.” Frodo ran to him and hugged him tightly.

“I can’t believe all of you did this in so short a time. I love it!” he exclaimed.

Estel took his hand. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Oh yes, come with us Tulkas,” Frodo ran out the door to the main room.

“I think he likes it, Estel,” Tulkas chuckled.

Estel smiled. “It was worth every lost night of sleep to complete it just to see his face.”

TBC


	33. A New Life

Pairing: Frodo/Estel

Rating: Mature

A New Life

They joined Frodo in the front room. “Look Estel, I can fit in the fireplace.” He ran across the room. “And look there’s a closet over there, and a tall bookcase,” Frodo exclaimed nearly bouncing with excitement.

Estel grinned, “I know, it really is wonderful is it not, my love?” All of the men were immensely enjoying Frodo’s undeniable excitement over his new home, chuckling as they watched his antics. “Oden, would you mind showing Frodo the back rooms?” Estel asked with a chuckle.

“I do not know if I can keep up with him, Captain,” Oden laughed.

Frodo took his hand, pulling him down the hallway, “I will try to walk slower to account for your slower legs,” he laughed.

Oden shot him a frown as he opened a door with a flourish. “This is yours and Estel’s bedroom, Frodo.”

“It is huge,” Frodo exclaimed. A large window, still awaiting the addition of glass, looked out onto the courtyard.

“It is a nice sized room, but there are two of you, remember,” Oden said softly. He took Frodo’s hand and guided him over to a corner of the room. “I built this little room especially for you, Frodo.” Oden opened the door and in the middle of the room sat a human sized claw foot tub. There were shelves lining the walls for towels and supplies. Frodo sank to his knees and Oden looked at him in concern. “Frodo, are you all right?” No answer. Oden flew from the room to find Estel. “Captain, there is something wrong with Frodo,” he exclaimed before racing back to the hobbit’s side. Estel bolted down the hallway followed closely by the rest of his men. He found Frodo still kneeling on the floor by the tub.

“Frodo, are you ill? Frodo answer me,” Estel grabbed the hobbit, turning him towards him. Tears ran down Frodo’s face, but Estel saw that they were tears of happiness.

Frodo gave Estel a trembling smile. “It’s too much; All of this, for us,” he whispered.”

Estel sighed in relief, “No Frodo, they, *we*, did it all for you. You mean so much to us we wanted you to have your own home that, if you are willing, you’ll allow me to share you,” Estel smirked.

Frodo wiped his eyes and grinned. “I don’t know, what would be the benefit of sharing this cottage with you, Ranger?” he chuckled.

Estel looked up seeing most of his men watching them through the doorway. “I will give you a list later,” he whispered in Frodo’s ear.

Frodo giggled and wrapped his arms around Estel’s neck as the Ranger stood. They started down the hallway when Frodo asked Estel to stop. “What is this room for, Estel?” he asked.

Estel grinned. “Well, you never know when you will need more room, do you Frodo?”

Frodo gave him a quizzical look, “I suppose that it is true,” he murmured.

Estel winked at Tulkas over Frodo’s head. “Perhaps we could invite Samwise to come for a visit and he could stay in this room.”

Frodo’s eyes lit up. “That is a splendid idea, Estel.”

“Or we could make it into a study or a library,” Estel continued.

“Another lovely idea,” Frodo exclaimed. Estel only smiled indulgently.

They all walked out and over to the main cabin. Tulkas had made them all a huge dinner to celebrate Frodo’s homecoming and there was a festive air around the table. After they had all eaten their fill and drank far too much ale, they all began preparing for bed. Estel carried a sleepy and slightly drunken Frodo to his quarters and laid him on the bed. Frodo merely groaned and rolled onto his side. Estel smiled as he carefully removed Frodo’s clothing and pulled a nightshirt over his head, then he followed suit. The bed was narrow but Estel didn’t mind, preferring to pull the hobbit to his chest and wrap himself protectively around him.

The next day dawned bright and clear and Frodo could not wait to clean out the new home and unload the cart of furnishings and supplies into the new cottage. Tulkas had finished the long table and chairs for the main room while Daecon and Daereon put down slats for the floor of a small front porch. Frodo stood and stared at the cabin, mentally placing flower beds and a small garden in the churned earth surrounding the cottage, before running back inside to grab a broom. He spent the day sweeping and wiping away the sawdust that had settled. In the afternoon a cart pulled into the courtyard with Tilion holding the reins.

"Frodo, how did you like your surprise,” he yelled to the hobbit.

“It was the best surprise ever. I am still reeling with the shock of it,” Frodo laughed.

“I have another in the wagon, the glass finally arrived for the windows”, he said walking back to the cabin with Frodo.

“Wonderful!” Frodo smiled. He ran ahead and grabbed Oden and Beren to unload the windows then sat eating an apple while watching them install it. Oden chinked around the edges so that there would be no drafts or leaks, and then turned to Frodo with a wink.

“That’s the last one, Frodo,” he said wiping the mud from his hands.

“Can it be lived in now?” Frodo asked excitedly.

Oden and Estel laughed heartily, “Yes, my friend but you truly could have started living in it at any time,” said Oden.

Frodo gave him a grimace,” I meant like civilized people, not Rangers who will sleep anywhere,” he cracked.

“Why you little…” and with that Estel found himself chasing a giggling hobbit around the courtyard. They flopped down on the old porch out of breath and smiling.

“Frodo, I need to tell you that I will have to leave within the week,” Estel said quietly.

Frodo looked away towards the structure that would be his and Estel’s new home.“So soon?” Frodo asked quietly.

“Yes, I am sorry,” Estel replied.

Frodo smiled and leaning over gave him a warm kiss. Estel’s eyes opened wide and a slow grin transformed his face. “Well then we'll just have to make the most of the time we have left, won’t we?” Frodo said with a devilish grin.

Estel smiled widely and pulled Frodo’s face to his own. He captured the lips and Frodo opened to him, intertwining their tongues and deepening the kiss. They would have gone further but were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Frodo had quite forgotten they were in plain view of all and sundry and blushed furiously. He looked up into the smiling face of Halbarad.

“I am sorry to disturb you both but your new home is officially finished and we are ready to unload your furnishings, but Frodo is needed to tell us where to put everything.”

Frodo gave Estel one last peck then jumped to his feet fairly flying across the courtyard to the laughing men. While he carried in the smaller supplies to the kitchen, the men brought in the large man sized bed, a chest of drawers and Estel’s trunk and bookcase from the main cabin. Soon the bedroom was the way Frodo wanted it and he began instructing them as to where to put the man and hobbit sized chairs in the main room. He pulled from a box, paintings of his Mother, Father and Bilbo, running a loving finger down the sides of each before handing them to Tilion to place on the wall. A very large map of Middle Earth was hung on the long wall and Tilion stopped to admire it.

“This is lovely. I did not realize hobbits were so well travelled as to draw such a map,” he said quietly.

Frodo smiled, “They are not as a rule. This was made by my Uncle Bilbo who has traveled much more than most of our kind of Middle Earth. What he hasn’t yet explored he has received from maps done by Elrond HalfElven before finishing this one.”

“He has an excellent eye and superb cartography skills,” Tilion marveled.

They continued filling the book shelves, unloading dishes and food items and spreading out cozy rugs on the floor. Finally, Frodo had Tilion assist him in putting sheets, comforters and pillows on the huge bed. Tilion helped hang the curtains in the bedroom and great room as the final touches.

Frodo looked around the home, “Oh Tilion, it turned out better than I could have hoped,” he sighed. “I cannot thank you enough, my friend, for all that you and the Rangers have done for Estel and me.” He ran to the young Ranger and gave him a fierce hug.

“It was my honor to help, Frodo. As payment the men have requested a home cooked hobbit meal for all at your new home later this week,” Tilion said with a smile.

“What a wonderful idea. I would be delighted,” Frodo said happily. They walked companionably out into the courtyard and rejoined the other men. Frodo smiled up at Estel. “Your new home awaits, my Ranger,” Frodo said with a bow.  
The men all laughed as they left the two to explore their new home. Estel was impressed with the cozy transformation as they walked hand in hand through all the rooms. The last room was the second bedroom or library room that Frodo was still trying to determine its purpose. A desk sat in the corner and some books rested on a shelf, other than that it was empty. They stared into the incomplete space. Estel looked down at Frodo with an enigmatic smile. “Don’t worry, Frodo, I’m sure we’ll find good use of this room eventually.”

Frodo nodded and smiled. “I am so very happy, Estel, that I feel I could fly,” he giggled.

Since they hadn’t the perishables they needed for a proper meal they left their new home and joined the men at the main house for dinner. After dinner Estel said, “Tulkas and Halbarad, since you are my chief officers I think it appropriate you take my old room,” he said with a smile.

Halbarad sprayed beer over the table as he began to laugh loudly. Estel looked confused, Tulkas looked embarrassed, but the other men laughed in understanding.

“Wha…what is so funny?” Estel asked.

“Regretfully Captain, I decline. Tulkas snores so badly that should we share quarters I would be forced to smother him with a pillow!”

“Now see here…” Tulkas began but then he shrugged his shoulders and shook Estel’s hand. “I am delighted, Captain, to have my own room away from this riffraff.

They all laughed together and the clear sound of Frodo’s laugh could be heard above it all. When order was restored, Daekon turned to Frodo and said with emotion, “It has been too long since we have heard the clear, ringing sound of your laughter, Frodo. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that when you left you took the very heart of the group with you. We are so very happy that you are back bringing that special lightness of heart with you." Frodo blushed and with damp eyes he said, “Oh, I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “Only that I am so very honored to have a home with some of the finest men I have ever known, and honored that you have made me feel so welcome amongst you.”

Calls of “hear, hear” and toasts to Frodo filled the room. More beer and wine was brought out to extend the cheer into the night.

Frodo and Estel retired shortly before midnight and they were glad they now lived apart from the rest of the men when their new home was filled with lusty calls, groans, moans and sounds of completion.

On the 6th day after they had moved into their new home, Estel woke early, took his bags and bedroll and began loading Galest. He woke Frodo and made his goodbyes. There were a few tears but mostly endearments of love until, finally, Estel was riding away with Frodo standing on the new porch, still in his dressing gown, sadly waving goodbye.

TBC


	34. Epilogue

Labyrinth-Epilogue

Frodo/Estel

Rated Mature

Four weeks later a very tired Ranger made his way across the Northern border of the Shire. He was weary and only wanted to reach his final destination to take a much needed rest with his mate. He pressed his horse to a trot as he broke through the tree line and regained the road. As if sensing that a barn with hay and oats were near, the horse needed little prodding to maintain the increased pace. Finally, the Ranger and his mount found the barely discernible trail leading to the stronghold. As they came to the last hillock overlooking the courtyard he reined up, smiling at the welcome site below him. A small curl of smoke came from the two chimneys of the log buildings. He skirted the low hillside until he made the approach to the cabins then spurred the horse into a gallop. So it was that Estel fairly vaulted to the ground in front of the main cabin. He looked over at the other cabin, taking in the neat flower beds with their riot of color, at the front of the cottage. On the South side of the building was a small garden he and Frodo had planted together. With a huge smile on his face, he entered the main cabin.

Tulkas looked up and broke into a large grin, “Captain! We were wondering when you’d be back. Frodo’s been searching the hill top for you most of the nights expecting you to miraculously ride into the courtyard,” he said with a chuckle.

“Where is he?” Estel asked, looking about the main room.

“In the meadow. Tilion's at the creek, I’ll have him tend to Galest,” Tulkas said with a smile.  
Estel nodded before running out the door, across the foot bridge and into the meadow. He scanned the area, searching for a small figure walking about. At last he spotted the object of his affection collecting flowers or seeds into a burlap bag at his side. Estel whistled shrilly and saw the dark head lift and look up towards him. A huge grin lit up Frodo’s face as he began running towards Estel, the bag thrown aside, forgotten.

Estel ran to intercept the hobbit as Frodo launched himself through the air to be caught expertly by Estel who swung the giggling, ecstatic hobbit about him.

“Oh you have been gone so long, Estel,” Frodo gasped. He covered the laughing Ranger’s face in kisses finally settling on the smiling lips. The kiss deepened into one of need and desire.   
Estel pulled Frodo to his chest, running his hands down the lithe body. Frodo groaned and threw his head back. Estel suckled the exposed neck and slowly dropped to his knees, laying the hobbit down in the field of wild flowers. Panting, Estel yanked off Frodo’s braces and began fumbling impatiently with the small buttons on the breaches until Frodo pushed his hands away and unbuttoned the pants, kicking them aside. Estel had stripped all his clothing off and grabbed Frodo by the shirt ripping it open in his haste. He sank down sucking desperately at the pale flesh laid out before him.

“Hurry, Estel,” Frodo urged. Estel made his way down the perfect body until he reached his goal, standing erect over a nest of brown curls. He swallowed the organ, nursing as a starving baby would suckle a teet.

Frodo surged up towards him with a cry. “Estel, take me, quickly!” he cried.

Estel’s head bobbed up and down frantically as he inserted first one then two and finally three fingers in quick succession into Frodo’s hot entrance. Frodo, pushed against him, whimpering and Estel pulled up placed his organ at the opening and pushed slowly in. The Ranger was shaking, wanting to plunder the hobbit until they both reached their climax, but he forced himself to control the urge until Frodo pumped upwards. Then he began frantically coupling, raking across the small pleasure area and causing Frodo to cry out and try to match each pump with one of his own. Then Frodo was climaxing, holding his thighs up and out as high as he could, back arched, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a silent scream, a look of ecstasy on his face. A fountain of semen erupted covering them both. Estel followed quickly behind, pulling Frodo up as he slammed into the smaller body. He cried out Frodo’s name as he filled the hobbit. Spent, he collapsed onto Frodo, rolled to the side still planted deep within his love, pulling Frodo with him. They lay locked together spent, satisfied and smiling.

“Again?” Frodo whispered.

Estel chuckled as he hugged Frodo fiercely to his chest,"Who am I to deny an insatiable hobbit?"

A little over two hours later the two walked slowly, hand in hand, back to the cabin, satisfied smiles on their faces. When they opened the door to the main cabin, the majority of the Rangers were present and all laughed heartily at the two blushing lovers.

“Estel, in honor of your return, I have made a very special meal for us tonight.”

“Oh, what is it, Tulkas?” Frodo asked excitedly, rushing to the stove, climbing up onto the low stool placed there just for him and pulling the lid carefully off of the pot to peek inside. He blanched, jumped down from the stool and raced for the door, vomiting over the side of the porch.

“Ugh...” he groaned.

The men raced outside all speaking at the same time, Tulkas brought a cup of water for Frodo to rinse his mouth with. Estel knelt beside the hobbit, his face anxious. Frodo’s face was quite pale, covered with a dewy perspiration and his eyes were closed. A line of drool dribbled from his mouth.

“Frodo! Are you all right? Have you been unwell since I’ve been gone?” Estel looked up at Tulkas and the Ranger shook his head.

“I haven’t felt like myself but I thought it was just something I ate or perhaps a mild stomach sickness like I had last winter. Tulkas, I am so sorry but I do not think I can eat your special dinner.”

“Oh Frodo, do not worry about that. I also have potatoes and bread and…”

Frodo’s eyes lit up, “Pickled green beans?” he asked excitedly.

All of the men’s eyes grew large as their mouths dropped open. All save for Estel, whose eyes lit up with delight. He broke into a huge smile and suddenly pulled Frodo to him in a hug.

Frodo looked confused, “What?” he said looking at Estel. “What is it…what did I say?” he asked again looking at each man in turn. But the only answer he heard was happy laughter.

 

THE END


End file.
